A Truth
by LadyEpoch
Summary: In which Arya Stark regains her self and seeks out the one person who can give her justice for the pack she lost- Daenerys Targaryen. (Will be rated M for later chapters.)
1. Chapter 1

The wolf-dreams didn't come as often as they once did, though the tree still visited her sleep from time to time. It spoke to her, calling her by her first name, her true name. Sometimes it was her father's voice, but mostly it was Bran who called for her the loudest. It hurt her ears, the desperation in his voice ripping her apart.

One night, she had woken up with her hands over her ears and tears running down her face, Jaqen H'ghar sitting on the edge of her bed.

"A girl calls out in her sleep for a boy named Bran," he had murmured in the voice she'd grown to love. "Who are you?"

"No one."

"Liar," he'd said with a sad, small smile before fading into the darkness of her chambers.

She wanted the dreams to stop. She wanted her past to burn away, leaving her a blank slate. She wanted only to serve the Many-Faced God for death was the only thing she knew. But the dreams... The voice was growing more insistent, more desperate. She could feel the power of it building up inside of her, but she denied it by pushing it away.

Every day the same question would be asked. ( _Who are you?_ ) Every day the same answer would be given. ( _No one_.) And everyday the sad, small smile would grace Jaqen H'ghar's lips and his eyes would catch her's as he shook his head. ( _Liar_.)

Then the night came when the power that built up inside her could not be denied. It burst through the wall she built around it. screaming her name, calling for her so loud she thought she might break. But instead of breaking... _she sank her teeth into the throat of a man. The warm blood sprayed everywhere as she shook her head, tearing the soft flesh off and swallowing it in one bite. The taste of blood made her hungry for more, but the man was dead and she wanted to feel the life go out of her prey as she ate. She didn't even give the corpse meat a second thought as she lunged at another man who had dropped his sword as he cried out for his mother._

 _All around her, her brothers and sisters gorged on the other men that had dared to hunt them. For three nights, she and her pack had roamed these woods, circling around the place she once called home. Any man who ventured too close was hunted down and killed, just as any man who tried to leave. Her pack had never eaten so well. There were close to three hundred now. All of her brothers and sisters in the north had sought her out to follow wherever she went._

 _Though she knew where she was, she didn't know why she brought them here or why she stopped anyone from entering or leaving. There was a scent in the air that beckoned to her. A phantom of a memory. Her sister, her true-sister from her original pack, called for her. It was a ghostly pull from the one they lost and she couldn't ignore it. But she didn't know what her lost sister wanted from her._

 _If the other was here, the one who trained her, nursed her, if she was here, then she would know, She would know and she would obey because they were one and together no man could stop them._

"You are in darkness, sister. Come back to us." Bran's voice echoed in the wolf-dream, pulling her out of it and giving her the parts of herself she thought she forgot back. She struggled against it. "Find the Mother of Dragons. She will be your path home."

"No, no, I am no one, no one, no one..." she whispered to the dark, still stubbornly fighting the memories. But it was useless. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, the weight of who she was settling over her once again.

Jaqen H'ghar sat at the edge of her bed again, but there was no small smile on his face this time. Only a sadness she couldn't understand yet.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice husky.

She met his eyes boldly. "Arya Stark."

"A truth."

He held his hands out to her, giving her the one thing she could never let go of, even when she thought she was no one. _Needle_.


	2. Chapter 2

(( **AN: For some reason, my computer crashes when I try to add a chapter, so bear with me, please. I promise I haven't stopped writing. Trust me, there's still a long way to go before the end. If your feel like you can't wait, though, I've also posted this on Archive of Our Own under the same name with more chapters. Also, thank you for the reviews! I live for them and I hope this doesn't disappoint**.))

The journey to Meereen was surprisingly uneventful. Arya was almost disappointed. The bloody trail she usually left behind her in her journeys would've at least offered her some distraction from the dreams that still plagued her. Now that she accepted them, they stopped hurting her, but the closer she came to her destination, the more clear Bran's voice became. And what he said made her want to turn back and give the Many-Faced God all of her former self.

If she only could... It was hard to be someone when all you wanted was to be no one.

Sometimes, in the space between wake and sleep, Arya could almost see her brother. He watched her as the roots of some great tree wrapped around him. It frightened her, but just when the fear threatened to be unbearable, the wolf-dream would take her in. There in Nymeria she was fearless. There she had a pack that no man could rip away.

In the dreams, Bran would tell her that she needed to call the pack away from Winterfell, to have them lie in wait in the Wolfswood because a time would soon come when they could eat their fill of the hunters and men, but that was near impossible. The scent of danger to one of her true-pack was in the air and the taste of hot, fresh meat was sending Nymeria and the others into a frenzy. The best Arya could do was convince her to let people leave and enter Winterfell without being hunted. Well, most of the people coming and going made it. There were some relapses.

 _Soon_ , Arya would tell her. _Soon you will feast on all the men behind the wall. Soon you will answer the one who was lost's call._

The promise of retribution was the only thing Nymeria would listen to. Even that, however, was a tenuous hold on the direwolf. Night after night, Arya repeated the soothing melody, cooling the bloodlust for just a little longer. She wasn't sure how long it would work. The direwolf and the girl were one and the same, but Arya had learned the art of patience in her travels and patience was a hard thing to teach to a wild animal.

(She wondered if Jaqen H'ghar ever felt as she did when Nymeria defied her. Arya lost count of the times she had been punished for her defiance.)

She found no solace in the light of the day either. The man and memories of him plagued her every moment of the day. The more she tried to ignore them, the more they haunted her. Finally, she gave in, losing herself in them as she made her way to Meereen. The last one was the one that replayed in her mind the most. It was the last time she would ever see him again. She was sure of it.

 _"A girl will leave, then?" Jaqen H'ghar asked that night in the dark. His fingers lingered on her's as he placed the sword in her hands. "A girl will leave and will never be able to come back. Do you understand this?"_

 _Arya was watching his fingers move lightly over her's, wondering what it meant. She wondered what everything he did meant. Sometimes she felt as if there was something there she wasn't getting and would never understand._

 _His question caught her off guard and she raised her eyes to meet his. Something blossomed inside of her, spreading an odd, discomforting warmth throughout her body. The man in front of her had showed her many faces and carried many names, but it was only when he was Jaqen H'ghar that made her feel this way._

What does it mean? _she wanted to ask_. And why are you so sad?

 _But she held her tongue and forced herself to ignore the ache inside of her and the sadness in his eyes. Jaqen had taken her in, shared his secrets, and gave her the gift of death. She would remember it always, but she couldn't forget that he was no one. And no one cared about nothing but serving the Many-Faced God. The man she found comfort in didn't truly exist._

 _"Yes. I understand," Arya whispered, pulling her hands away from him. "But my pack calls for me. I came here only to learn how to avenge them, only I'd forgotten that. They won't let me do that anymore."_

 _Jaqen H'ghar studied her a moment longer. The sadness in his eyes deepened. "My lovely girl," he murmured as he leaned in close to her until his lips brushed against her ear. She shivered at the touch. "The one you seek is in Meereen. A man listens. A man knows. Tread carefully, lovely girl, for she is heavily guarded."_

 _Arya didn't even bother to ask how he knew where she needed to go. Jaqen always knew everything, even the impossible. She accepted it years ago._

 _He pulled back and looked into her eyes once more before he stood and left the room._

The look in the man's eyes had burned into her soul and followed her all the way to Meereen. She feared she'd never understand it.


	3. Chapter 3

(( **AN: All right, I got the computer crashing thing fixed, I think, so we're back on track. Thank you all for being patient and whatnot.**

 **This chapter's going to seem a bit jumbled up because it was meant to be part of the last chapter. I don't know about you guys, but to me the format of the last one was a bit confusing. Thankfully, it's not going to be like that anymore. I hope this is a bit clearer. I have two more chapters to post tonight once I get them all fixed up for you, so read on and review! Or favorite! Or whatever! I'll take it all, thank you very much. :D ))**

The streets of Meereen were crowded, just the way Arya Stark liked it. It made gathering information all the more easier. She could eavesdrop on any conversation without being suspicious and quickly get lost in the crowd if she was caught. To her surprise, the majority of the population loved their Khaleesi. They revered her, calling her 'mother' and worshiping her as a goddess. They would even fall to their knees and sing her praises whenever she was mentioned.

 _They're sheep_ , Arya thought to herself in disgust when she saw a small group of people fall to their knees. _No one is as just and kind as they say. She must be truly terrible if she can force her people to worship her like this_.

It meant nothing to Arya either way. This was where Bran told her to go and this is where she would stay until he said otherwise. The Mother of Dragons was only going to be a step to find her way home.

However, finding a way to get to that step was harder than she thought. The Unsullied that guarded the pyramid were the obstacle. Nothing got by them. Arya was impressed, but annoyed. She tried many different faces to fool them to no avail and finally decided that more unconventional methods would have to be used.

A group of cats had taken up residence in the pyramid. They came and went whenever they felt like it, as cats are known to do. They were the only ones who had the freedom to move around the pyramid without suspicion. It had been a long time since Arya used her gift on anyone other than Nymeria, but it was like dancing. You never forgot how.

She slipped into the mind of an orange tomcat and went on the prowl. The Unsullied were everywhere, but they were more relaxed than the ones outside. There were even hallways left unguarded for hours at a time. When she mapped it out, she realized that the path they held would take her straight to the Khaleesi's rooms. Arya caught only a glimpse of the fabled woman once before a tiny man shooed the tom cat away. She was always surrounded by what looked to be members of a council, not true soldiers like the Unsullied. Two of the voices sounded familiar but, with the cat's hearing, Arya couldn't be completely sure.

For three days, she spent most of her waking hours inside the cat, learning every nook and cranny of the pyramid and plotting out her route to the Khaleesi. When she came back to herself, she'd collapse and fall into a deep sleep. Most nights she'd be too exhausted to beg for food. A kind, old beggar that shared the dark alley by the pyramid she hid in would share his findings with her from time to time. Without him, she would've starved to death. Her only thoughts were of finding how the Khaleesi could take her home.

(If Arya paid more attention to the old man, she would notice the way he watched her carefully, trying not to be obvious with his concern. He hid the lengths he went to to protect her when she was looking through a cat's eyes. A man should scold a girl for being so careless, but he would wait until she knew him for who he was. He had a feeling that a certain lovely girl wouldn't be as grateful as she should be when the truth was known.)

On the fourth day, Arya's chance came unexpectedly. It was in the night when mostly everyone but the Unsullied was asleep. The skies had opened up and let loose a heavy rain that served only to deepen the darkness of the night, but Arya was oblivious to it. She didn't notice the odd taste of the rain or the oily slickness it left on the skin.

The kind, old beggar noticed, though, and when he stood up, he wasn't the kind, old beggar anymore. He was Jaqen H'ghar. The rain was unnatural but familiar. A man had seen its like before many, many years ago. If caught unaware by it, the rain had the power to dull the senses and lure weaker men to sleep. The last time he encountered it, luck had been on his side. Jaqen had had prior warning that the man whose life he'd been sent to end would have a Warlock in his employ as protection and the Warlocks of Qarth used this kind of weather magic whenever they could. This was different, though. More powerful. The magic was coming back with the dragons, he'd been told. He didn't believe it truly until now.

Oh, what a mistake this was, following the lovely girl across the world just because a man was _worried_. A man should be back where he belonged, serving the Many-Faced God as he had for so many years, but he feared that he wasn't welcome there anymore. Not after what was said when the others found him packing. But time enough for second thoughts later. Now a man had to get the lovely girl out of the rain.

Jaqen shook Arya to wake her, but found, to his disgust, that she wasn't sleeping. She had slipped away into the cat again. His knowledge of her ability was the one secret he let her keep. Not even his brothers and sisters in the guild knew what she was capable of. At first, a man had been impressed, but now he was annoyed. He would have to carry the girl.

* * *

The rain wasn't just falling outside, it was falling inside as well. It seeped through the walls and fell through the cracks in the ceiling. The orange tomcat wasn't affected the way the humans around him were. He was only dismayed at the thought of having to lick himself clean of the strange water later. Arya made the cat step over the unconscious body of one of the Khaleesi's handmaidens. What was happening? The cat's senses sharpened the nauseating smell of the water and it took all she had not to flee back to her own body. She had to see what if there was any danger to the Khaleesi. If anything happened to her, it would take Arya all the more longer to get home.

The hall that led to the Khaleesi's rooms was dry. No water fell from the ceiling or seeped from the walls. Arya spied a man in a dark robe at the other end, walking slowly to the Khalessi's door. In his hands he carried a wicked looking blade that obviously had only one purpose- death. As a cat, she could do nothing, but as a girl?

Arya rushed back to her body. Her eyes snapped open and locked onto Jaqen's. She didn't pause, didn't stop to wonder what the man was doing there in the alley with his arms around her as if to pick her up. She pushed away from him and drew Needle.

"Jaqen, the Khaleesi," she cried breathlessly as she ran past him to the pyramid. "Please." A man needed nothing more to get him to follow. He ran after her, drawing his own blades.

The Unsullied on guard weren't asleep, but they hardly reacted as the two ran past them. Later, they would say the only thing they saw were shadows moving faster than anything they'd ever seen before. Down the hallways they flew, so fast their feet barely touched the floor. Arya led the way through the route she memorized from the tomcat, never once stopping. Up the stairs, through the slick hallways, and then, finally, through the doors of the Khaleesi's chambers.

The Mother of Dragons held a knife that was better suited for cutting cheese maybe, but it was all she had. The only fear she felt was betrayed by the slight tremor of her hand.

Arya acted as the man in the robe raised his own blade. She sunk iNeedle/i into the man's back, twisting the blade to make it a death wound, but the man was gone. She heard a sound at the open balcony and turned. The man was there, his dark blue lips drawn back in a hiss. His arm drew back and he let something loose. Something shiny and sharp. She could only watch stupefied as it flew end over end toward her.

Jaqen lunged at her, pushing her out of the way of the blade, but he was too late. Arya felt it hit her shoulder and a wave of agony tore through her. _Poison_. It had to be if it hurt this much. In the distance, she heard the Khaleesi call for help. The only thing she could focus on at the moment, though, was Jaqen's worried face above her's. Why was he worried? If he wasn't worried, he was sad. She wanted to ask him what it meant, but her world faded into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Arya drifted in the deep dark as time passed her by. She had no idea how long she'd been there. Have I always been in the dark? Have I always been filled with this nothingness? Every breath she took drew more of it in and the darkness pulled her in to its unimaginable depths. Her new found awareness of Nymeria was cut off. Even Bran's voice faded with each slow beat of her heart.

Silence now. No breaths, no heartbeat. Finally, she was going to meet the Many-Faced God. She thought she had accepted death a long time ago, but she was wrong. Sharp fear struck Arya to her core. What if there actually was something after death and she was reunited with her family? Then they would know what she'd done with her life. Her father, the great and noble Lord Stark, would hate her if he knew of all the blood she spilled and all the deadly poisons she dealt. The thought of his disgust with her when he would learn that she liked it made her want to retch. _I didn't just like it, father, I loved it. Killing was the only thing that made me feel alive_.

Live. She had to live, even if only to delay any reunion in the afterlife. Her grip on life was slipping, though. Her iron will and stubbornness wasn't going to help her this time. She was too weak and too afraid.

Arya heard a faint whisper of wings coming toward her from very far away, growing louder the closer it got. With it came other sounds as well: the chilling howl of a wolf, a terrible screeching noise, the sound of a great horn blowing as if to herald something great and terrible, and the cold sound of growing, cracking ice. She heard two voices amid the cacophony, both calling out to her. One was Bran's, but it was muffled and the words couldn't quite find her. The other was clear as day and close, so close she could feel lips brushing against her ear.

"No, sweet girl," Jaqen murmured. "Come back. I will not let the god have you just yet."

Arya grabbed hold of the strength in his voice and pulled herself up out of the darkness, but she was shocked that Jaqen H'ghar of all people wanted to deny the Many-Faced God his due. Blindly, she reached out for him, not expecting to find him, but she did. Arya opened her eyes enough to see him and only him. He watched her with an intensity that made her quake inside. She'd seen it only once before and, after that, thought she'd never see it again.

* * *

 _It had been an assignment like all the others, but the difference this time was that after this one, Arya would be able to work alone. Jaqen only came along to make sure she was ready. She did her job beautifully with no mistakes. (As a man knew she would. A girl was an artist when it came to service for their god. A man could watch her every time and not be disappointed.) The only problem they ran into was when they tried to leave Asshai. The gates were closed to anyone leaving or entering due to the Shadow and Moon Festival._

 _But an unexpected holiday was always welcome, so Jaqen insisted they enjoy it. The faces they wore loved to laugh and drink and they let themselves fall into it. They wandered the streets for hours arm-in-arm, the Dornish merchant and his lovely assistant. The wine flowed freely as did their inhibitions._

 _Somehow, Arya never could quite remember how, they ended up back in their room at the small inn. The Dornish merchant couldn't keep his hands off his assistant, who played coy but egged him on all the same. The merchant practically ripped the dress off her before laying her down on the bed. Although Arya herself was only fifteen and still a maiden, the assistant knew what was going to happen and she wanted it more than anything._

 _The merchant stepped back to take his shirt off and unlace his pants, a wicked glint that could only belong to her Jaqen H'ghar flashed in his eyes as he looked down at her. And then their bodies were pressed together, moving against each other in sinful ways. The sensation made her ache deep inside. The man's hand slipped in between her legs and she felt a promise of relief._

 _It was the first time she ever had anything inside of her and the sensation caused her to dig her nails into his back and open her eyes. Arya expected to see the Dornish merchant above her with his fingers inside of her, but it was Jaqen H'ghar. When she stiffened in surprise, Jaqen's eyes opened as well and she saw her own face reflected back at her, not the lovely assistant's face. They stared at each other in stunned silence before he pulled away, averting his eyes as Arya gathered the blankets over her nakedness._

 _Jaqen stayed like that, unmoving as he took deep breaths to steady the tremors in his hands. Arya herself had been near tears. Not because she was scared or ashamed of what just happened, but because she hadn't wanted to stop and she didn't know how to tell him that. She didn't know- couldn't know- what it meant and she wanted to shake him until he told her._

 _"A girl is blameless," Jaqen had whispered, still not looking at her. "This is a man's fault. And a man begs forgiveness from the girl."_

 _Arya had reddened at that. "I'm a woman, not a girl. You don't have to-"_

 _Jaqen looked at her then with the intense look that made her quake. "A girl must stay a girl to me for both of our sakes. No more of this." He left no room for argument, which rankled Arya to no end, but the next morning, they both acted as if nothing happened._

* * *

Arya felt as if she should say something to Jaqen, to thank him for pushing her to the side when the poison dagger would've hit her head, but she didn't want to break the moment. Underneath that gaze, for the first time, she began to have an inkling of an idea of what the thing between them she kept missing meant.

The moment passed and Jaqen gave her a fleeting smile as he cupped her face with his hand, his thumb caressing her cheek. "The girl lives," he sighed. "Now you are where you need to be, lovely girl. A man can rest easier." He leaned down and kissed her softly on her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin.

The act had an air of finality that made Arya suspicious, but her eyelids grew heavy and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Two days passed before Arya awoke again. She felt stronger and much more rested than she had felt in a long time. It took her a moment to get her bearings, though. The room she was in had no windows, but it still felt airy. She looked down and noticed that someone had dressed her in a white, loose shift. Her heart started to pound when she realized that she was missing Needle. Frantically, she tried to get out of the bed, but only ended up crying out in pain as she wrenched her shoulder.

"Peace, child, you are safe here." An elderly woman stood in the open doorway, smiling joyfully at Arya before turning back to someone just out of her vision. "Tell the Khaleesi that her savior is awake. She will want to see her at once."

Arya heard a mumbled reply and hurried footsteps leading away from the room. The woman entered the room, still beaming that joyful smile at her. It made Arya uneasy only for the simple fact that she hadn't been around anyone who was that happy in a very long time.

"Child, it is a miracle that you're alive. The knife we pulled out of you was coated in wolfsbane. I've never seen anyone survive it." The woman paused to give Arya a chance to speak, but she only gave a wary half-shrug. Pain in her shoulder made her gasp and she held a hand up to stop the woman from rushing to her side. She was familiar with the effects of wolfsbane. Too familiar. It was one of the many poisons that she purposely dosed herself with to build up a tolerance.

"I'm fine," Arya spat out. "Just... Jaqen. Where's Jaqen?" The moment she asked the question, she _knew_. She knew the answer, but didn't want to hear it.

The woman looked confused and shook her head. "I'm sorry. Jaqen? I don't know who you're talking about."

"Jaqen H'ghar, that's who I'm talking about!" she snapped, surprising both herself and the woman. "The man who was with me. Tall? Long red hair with a ridiculous white streak? Has a permanent smirk on his face you just want to smack off?" Stop. Arya took a deep breath to calm herself. So what if he left her? It was just as well. She hadn't wanted him to come in the first place. She didn't need him. He wasn't her pack. She was going to find her pack and not think a second thought about the man. But why would he leave her all alone after following her all this way?

"You are distraught," the woman fretted, rushing forward. She stopped when Arya shot her a dangerous look and decided to keep a respectful distance between them. "There is no man here by that name. Only the Khaleesi, myself, and my assistants have been in this room. You might've imagined him in a fever-dream."

"No, he wasn't a fever-dream," a voice from the doorway sounded. It was commanding and confident and Arya didn't need to see the elder woman kneel with a reverent 'Khaleesi' on her lips to know who had just entered the room. "There was a man with her that night, but he was gone by the time Grey Worm and his men arrived."

Arya's breath caught in her throat at the sight of the Khaleesi. She was in the same room as the Mother of Dragons. A walking legend. Usually legends disappoint, but this time... The great queen certainly didn't disappoint. Beautiful couldn't begin to describe the vision in front of her, No wonder her people worshiped the ground she walked on. There had to be a catch, though. There always was when it came to royalty.

The Khaleesi remained unmoving as Arya gathered her wits back together. She must be used to being stared at with awe because she continued on as if nothing happened when she saw that Arya had recovered.

"You may stay where you are," she said graciously, cocking an eyebrow at her. "I don't expect you to knell with a wound as grievous as yours."

"I wasn't planning on it anyway," Arya blurted without thinking. Well. That was a way to let the Khaleesi see that she wasn't a sheep. At least it was out there. A poorly smothered laugh drew her attention away from the Khaleesi and Arya noticed her companions for the first time. She broke out into a cold sweat.

 _The Imp_. The Imp was standing to the right of the Khaleesi as if she held the man in high regard. A Lannister in the Mother of Dragon's court. That had to be in interesting story. She'd always been fascinated by him, especially when she saw him talking to her half-brother Jon Snow in Winterfell. That seemed like lifetimes ago. How surreal.

There were two others standing behind the Khaleesi. One an Unsullied and the other an old man Arya would know from anywhere. Her father had talked highly about him often enough for her to recognize him. Ser Barristan Selmy. She narrowed her eyes at the old knight. He was the one who arrested her father. She learned that much. She didn't care if it was under orders from the King. He was the one who threw her father into the Black Cells.

The room grew noticeably colder as Arya threw the sheets back and stood, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. The Unsullied soldier stepped forward, placing himself between Arya and the Khaleesi, but he needn't have worried. She just didn't want to look weak in front of someone who betrayed her family.

The Khaleesi raised an eyebrow, but said nothing about Arya's sudden change of demeanor. "I like that," she said, laughing. "You have spirit. And you also have my thanks for your timely arrival the other night. I'll have the story of how that happened soon, I'm sure. For now, child, all I want to know is your name so I can thank you properly."

Arya bit her tongue this time. Having to say that you weren't a child only made you a child. They would learn how wrong they were soon. "A girl has had many names, Your Grace." She hadn't meant to slip into the way she used to talk in the House of Black and White, but it felt natural and fitting for what she was about to say. "Names are only a label for this girl. They do not speak of who a girl is or why she is here."

The Khaleesi smiled, bemused as the others bristled at the tone the girl used. She would play the child's game. There was no harm in it that she could see. "Is it just a matter of phrasing, then? How is this for your liking? Pray tell, child, who are you and why are you here?"

Arya let the moment draw out until all was silent. The Imp looked at her expectantly, mirth dancing in his eyes as if he saw everything as a joke. The old knight watched her with a suspicious glare, his lips pressed together in distaste.

"I am Arya of House Stark and I am here to help you take back the throne, Khaleesi."

She realized that that was the first time she'd been able to say who she truly was and not worry about anyone overhearing. It felt odd to say it like that. The secret had been her's for so long that giving it up like that made her feel empty. The gasp from Ser Barristan Selmy was quite satisfying, though.


	5. Chapter 5

It certainly was a dramatic moment by the expressions on Tyrion Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy's faces, but the Khaleesi was less than impressed. Arya expected that, though. She loved showing the people who underestimated her just how wrong they were. What she didn't expect was the change in the Khaleesi's demeanor. The warm smile abruptly dropped and she looked at Arya shrewdly.

Belatedly, Arya remembered it was her family, more than any other, that started the rebellion. Her family that brought about the near end of the Targaryens. She glanced at the Unsullied soldier and noticed he had a tight grip on the hilt of his sword, ready to strike at the first sign of a threat. She was finally humble enough to know that she wouldn't win in a fight with that one. She'd have to remember to hold her tongue and think before speaking. ( _Tread carefully_.)

Doubt crept into her mind. Arya hoped she hadn't just imagined Bran's voice. She hoped that she hadn't made a mistake by leaving the House of Black and White. Where would she go if this didn't work out?

Tyrion sniggered and bit his lip, trying to hold it in. Arya reddened, not sure what his source of amusement was, but she had an idea that it might be her. That was rich coming from a dwarf. She'd thought he of all people would've learned by now that nobody was ever what they seemed.

"Impossible," Ser Barristan insisted, stepping forward to get a better look at her. "Arya Stark is dead. She died in King's Landing the day Lord Stark was arrested."

 _The day_ you _arrested him_ , Arya thought to herself, fixing the old knight with a cold glare.

Did she really look that different? During her training, she had stayed away from mirrors and most reflective surfaces. To convince herself that she was no one, she had to forget what Arya Stark looked like. She knew she was taller and more lean with the hidden muscles of a bravo. She also knew she didn't look like a child anymore, even if the Khaleesi called her one. Arya had curves now and an ample chest that only got in the way when she fought. She wanted to run to the nearest mirror to see how different her face looked.

"Then I am a ghost," she said, raising an eyebrow. "My father took you for a sensible man. Do you believe everything you hear?" Suddenly, Arya longed for Needle in her hand. Every second that passed by without it made her feel more like a mouse than the wolf she was. "I was faster than the men they sent after me. It must've been quite embarrassing for them."

 _Syrio Forel_... Arya closed her eyes, overcome with emotion for a moment. She hadn't thought of that name in a very long time. She hoped her old dancing master's death had been quick, but she didn't want to ask the knight if he knew about that. When she opened them, Ser Barristan was looking at her in a different way, his distrust slowly disappearing.

"And so another one of my family's enemies comes to my side," the Khaleesi mused. "Assuming you are who you say you are, that is. But, even if you are, I don't see what use I have for you. I suppose I could marry you off to a family in Westros that could help us in the war."

Arya's blood turned to ice and she clenched her fists. The thought of being caught in a trap like that filled her with rage. But she didn't notice the twinkle in the Khaleesi's eyes. The Mother of Dragons had learned early on that the more you push someone's buttons, the more you'll get to know them.

"I'm not to be sold off," Arya snapped, forgetting her earlier worries about holding her tongue. "My family name is nothing compared to what I can do for you. I've learned more than you can imagine while I was dead."

Her sleeve felt wet and when she looked at her shoulder, she saw a growing spot of blood. Her bandages needed changing. The Khaleesi noticed as well and gave Arya a curt nod.

"I'll send someone in to tend to you," the woman said, turning to go. "Later, you will join us in my chambers for dinner. While we eat, I'll have your story. I'm sure it'll prove interesting."

Tyrion paused in the doorway as the others left. "Jon Snow's direwolf, the name, quick."

"Ghost," Arya answered automatically. "And he's the only one that doesn't make a sound."

Tyrion flashed her a smile and nodded. "Well, Lady Arya, I can't wait to hear your story."

"And I can't wait to hear yours, Imp."

"Don't call me 'Imp'."

"Then don't call me 'Lady Arya'." She thought she saw a grin on Tyrion's face as he left.

* * *

As Arya submitted herself to the tender hands of one of the elderly woman's assistants, a young man, she tried to reach out to Nymeria in her mind. The connection had come back, but it was faint. Even Bran's voice felt muted. She could only feel what he was saying, not hear it. He reassured her that she was where she was supposed to be, but something was wrong with Nymeria.

The direwolf had felt the poisoned dagger as if it hit her as well. The packs went wild when their alpha collapsed. Over three hundred wolves turned against each other and every other living thing that had the bad luck to cross their paths.

That was all Arya could gather from Bran and Nymeria was in too much pain for Arya to enter her mind. It was all the direwolf focused on. Arya felt helpless in the face of it, she could do nothing for her. It was worse than knowing her father was beheaded just a few feet away from her. It was worse than being only a castle wall away as her mother and Robb were murdered. At least their pain was over. Nymeria, the only tangible connection she had to her past, had to suffer with no help at all.

A tear ran down her cheek and the young man paused. She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him, but she felt a light touch on her cheek that brushed the tear away.

Arya's eyes snapped open and narrowed at the young man who suddenly wasn't a young man anymore. " _You_ ," she hissed, jerking away from him.

"Me," Jaqen agreed with a solemn nod, but had to duck when Arya tried to hit him. She used her injured arm which hurt her more than it did him. "A girl will ruin her bandages! Sweet girl, be reasonable." She would've stopped if he hadn't laughed, but he did, the low chuckle he always did when she amused him. As she swung wildly at him, he caught her hands in his and held onto them tightly.

"Evil girl," he murmured, trying to calm her down. "That is what you are. This man watches over you when you are careless, he saves your life and bandages your wound and this is how you repay him?"

"I thought you left." Arya snapped. The pain from her shoulder finally registered and her knees went weak. Jaqen caught her effortlessly and, despite her struggle to break free of him, helped her back to the bed. "For good this time. I'm tired of never being sure about you anymore."

Jaqen began to apply fresh bandages while Arya took deep breaths to calm down. "I don't need your help. I'm not your problem anymore," she continued. With her eyes focused on the floor, she didn't notice the amusement that was in his eyes fade. He became dark and brooding. "I am Arya Stark and you are no one. Not Jaqen H'ghar, not the Dornish merchant." They colored as the memory came back to both of them at the same time. "You are only no one and it's not fair that you keep coming back into my life as a man who doesn't exist."

Jaqen stayed silent until he finished the bandage, a war silently raging inside of him. How could he tell the girl that even though Jaqen H'ghar might not be his true face or name, she made it feel like it was? He had been faceless for a very long time, long enough to forget who he was before and what he had looked like. Sometimes, because of how much the man had come to care for her, he feared that if he stayed with her any longer that Jaqen H'ghar would become his only face and name. What would he be with only one face?

"A girl should not flatter herself," he said, breaking the silence. "Before, this man was here because he worried about an evil girl. A foolish task, I know, but now, a message has arrived, calling him to service. A name has been whispered and a man must pay the Many-Faced God his due." It was true, but he hoped the girl would leave it at that. If he said anything more, she would guess the name that had been whispered. He didn't know what she would do if she found out.

Of course Arya couldn't leave it at that, but she didn't need him to say anything more for her to guess what he feared she would. She turned toward him, her eyes suspicious. "What was the name?" He only shook his head, the small sad smile on his face. "Jaqen, if you're not here for me, then why are you in the pyramid at all?"

Jaqen kissed her forehead and stood up. "Valar dohaeris, lovely girl. Valar dohaeris."

There was only one person that would be important enough for someone to buy the services of a Faceless Man. _The Mother of Dragons_.

"No, no, you can't," Arya pleaded, grabbing the back of Jaqen's robe as he walked away. "She's my only way home. Jaqen, you can't."

The person that turned to face her wasn't Jaqen anymore, only the young man. He bowed to her, showing no sign of recognition when he straightened. "Clean clothes will be brought to you before you dine with the Khaleesi, my lady." He turned and walked away, leaving Arya feeling more wretched than she ever had before.


	6. Chapter 6

(( **AN: And this one is a long one. If you suffer through it, I promise the next chapter will be full of action and oh-so-delightful steamy scenes.**

 **I don't think I can thank you all enough for the reviews/favorites/whatnot. Even the simple follows make me happy. It keeps me invested in the story and makes me write faster. I love you all. :D** ))

It infuriated Arya that a small part of her believed Jaqen wouldn't do it, that he would let her have this chance to get home. She knew there were other ways home. A few coins and a ship would do just as well, but Bran felt that this was the only way they could take Winterfell back. Arya didn't know why and, to be honest, she didn't question it, which was unusual for her, but there was something different about Bran now. In the dreams, she felt something ancient was working through her brother, something that reached out to her blood and commanded her to trust. It reminded her of her father's godswood, of the face in the weirwood, and she couldn't deny it anymore than she could deny Nymeria. This was the only chance Winterfell had and Arya wanted to believe Jaqen wouldn't take it from her.

A foolish fancy, Arya knew it to be. She needed to be sensible, not sentimental. Jaqen- or, rather, the man that wore his face would do his duty without a second thought. He only cared for the Many-Faced God, not her. ( _Nevermind the memory of him calling her back from death's embrace; nevermind the fact that he wanted to deny the god's due just for her_.) She was alone. Again.

But if she told the Khaleesi about the man, then he would surely die. The thought left a horrible taste in her mouth. Arya couldn't do that. She couldn't condemn a man who saved her more times than she could count. No matter that Jaqen H'ghar didn't really exist, Arya still held onto the thought of him. No, she couldn't tell the Khaleesi, but she could do everything in her power to protect the woman.

Arya made a face as a small woman entered the room, carrying the promised clean clothes. She thought it would be a dress fit for a Lady of Westeros, but it seemed the Khaleesi had thought Arya would be more comfortable in a simple tunic and leggings. For that she was grateful, especially when the small woman handed Arya her sword. The feeling of Needle at her side ready to be drawn in case of danger was a relief that lifted some of the weight on her shoulders.

Then she remembered what lay ahead for her and the weight came back. Trying to counter everything Jaqen would do in his service to the god wasn't going to be easy, especially since he was the one who trained her. The only thing that was on her side was time. She knew he wouldn't strike until he had a sure way out. Getting caught in King's Landing had taught him the value of a good escape plan.

* * *

Two Unsullied soldiers accompanied the girl who introduced herself as Missandei. While they stayed a respectful distance away as Missandei led Arya to the Khaleesi's rooms, she could feel their wary eyes on her. Flattered as she was, Arya wished they would underestimate her like so many others. It was going to be hard to keep the Mother of Dragons safe without letting anyone know of Jaqen if they kept that up.

"What you did...," Missandei began, stopping before the chamber's doors. She placed a hand on Arya's arm. "I don't know if you realize what the Khaleesi means to us. To me. If she had been killed, her death would've broken the hearts and hopes of all of us. I thank you." For the first time, Arya looked into Missandei's eyes and saw that she was genuine.

It was disconcerting, all of this devotion. She nodded at her, trying to remind herself of King Robert and the vile boy that followed him. They had been rulers, too, and look at what they did to their people. And then there was King Aerys, the Mad King, the one who forced her grandfather to watch his own son be strangled to death before he burned him alive. He had been a Targaryen like the Khaleesi. There were no just and kind rulers. There couldn't be.

Arya looked away from Missandei, suddenly uncomfortable. Her shoulder began to throb and she rubbed it. She should say something, but nothing came to mind. She only nodded again and forced a small, awkward smile. Missandei returned it, but without the awkwardness, and opened the doors.

"The Khaleesi will join you when she is finished in the throne room," Missandei said with a bow as Arya walked into the room. The girl didn't follow her. Instead the door closed right after her and Arya found herself in a light, airy room with an open balcony. Two more Unsullied stood on either side of the doors. They had increased their guard after the latest assassination attempt to her relief. Jaqen's job wasn't going to be easy.

A long table in the center of the room held a large bowl of fruit and a jug of what she assumed to be wine. Seated at one end was Tyrion Lannister, the Imp himself. Arya raised an eyebrow at him and he raised his goblet at her, a smile on his face. He looked as if he'd had one too many drinks, but from what she heard, that wasn't unusual for him.

"The Lady Arya Stark," Tyrion said, his tone bitter. "How lovely to see you again. You look very well for a dead person." He tilted his goblet back, emptying it before reaching for the jug to pour some more. Arya had been worried about the wine. Poisoning the drinks was always a fail safe for Faceless Men, but since Tyrion was still alive, maybe Jaqen wasn't going to do it the easy way.

"The Lord Imp," Arya greeted him with a curtsy that was unmistakably mocking. She walked around the room, looking for anything that might give Jaqen an advantage. There was a door that led to the Khaleesi's sleeping chambers and when she glanced in, another Unsullied stepped out of the shadows, blocking her view. So the Khaleesi was much better protected than she thought. At least Jaqen wouldn't have it too easy.

"I told you not to call me that," Tyrion chided, his eyes following her as she made her way around the room.

"And I told you not to call me 'Lady Arya'," she shot back absentmindedly as she settled into a seat. She angled the chair so she could look at him better. "If you can remember that, then I can remember not to call you Imp." Now she focused her attention on the dwarf. Her curiosity was almost too much to contain, but years in the House of Black and White had taught her that silence was better than any question one could ask.

He grimaced and looked down into his cup. "My apologies, then. You'll have to excuse me. I've a lot on my plate at the moment." Even though his tone was bitter, there was still mirth in his eyes as he met hers. But, Arya realized, it wasn't a kind of mirth that she would find funny. It had a jaded light to it. "I imagine you understand. Let's not talk of it. I want to hear your story. I bet it's much more interesting than mine."

Arya shook her head, a smirk dancing on her lips. "No, you'll hear mine soon enough and I hate repeating myself. Besides, a Lannister in the court of the last Targaryen? That was surprising to see. And not much surprises me." She spied a blood orange in the bowl of fruit and picked it up, struck by a memory of Sansa. She had thrown one just like this at her sister once when she made her angry and ruined her stupid silk gown The smirk deepened as she lifted her eyes to Tyrion's. She wondered what kind of marriage the dwarf and her sister had and the smirk faded. Unexpectedly the thought saddened her. _Sansa. What happened to Sansa?_ She wanted to ask the question, but wasn't sure she wanted the answer. She forced the smirk back onto her face, trying to push the thought away and hoping Tyrion hadn't noticed.

But he had. He saw everything. His bitterness softened and he smiled genuinely. "Surprising, yes, but the only thing that could top a Lannister in the court of the last Targaryen is a dead Stark." His smile faltered when he realized what he just said. There were a lot of dead Starks these days. To Arya's credit, she didn't even blink at it, only continued to gaze at him with an expectant look on her face. He let out a loud sigh, giving in.

"Fine, I'll go first." Tyrion took a long drink from his goblet and settled back in his seat to get more comfortable. "To begin with, you're wrong about one thing. I'm not a Lannister. At least, I don't consider myself as one anymore. I trust you've heard of a certain king's untimely demise?" Arya nodded, motioning with her hand for him to just get on with it. "All right, fine, fine. Well, I was blamed while your..."

He trailed off, wondering if he should mention Sansa. Arya hadn't asked about her and he remembered from his time at Winterfell that they weren't close at all. Before he could broach the subject, though, Arya gave him a dangerous look and he decided to just skip past her sister for now. He cleared his throat.

"In short, I was sentenced to death, but, to my surprise, there were some people who didn't want that to happen. They helped me escape. There were some hitches, of course. Me killing my father during the escape wasn't part of the plan." Tyrion stopped when he saw Arya's stricken face and bristled a little at that. He reached for his goblet, bringing it to his lips. "Well, I know kinslaying isn't an honorable act," he shrugged. "But I think you of all people could understand-"

"No, it's not that," Arya interrupted, shaking her head. "It's just that I was really hoping I'd have a chance to tell him that I was his cupbearer when he was at Harrenhal."

Tyrion's eyes bulged at that and he sat his goblet down. She... His father... His father had Arya Stark in his hands and he hadn't known it? He began to chuckle. It built up inside of him until he was roaring with laughter, his head thrown back and tears running down his face. Arya couldn't help but join him. When they finally calmed down, Arya felt better than she had in years, lighter and more free. Tyrion still chuckled a little as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Oh, I needed that," he grinned. "I'm almost sorry that I killed him before he found that out." He took a drink and cleared his throat, getting back to the story. "I was smuggled out of King's Landing by my brother and a friend. That friend brought me here to help the Khaleesi take back the throne. I'm good at playing the game. Very good." Now Tyrion turned bitter again. "But try telling that to an old knight who should've put his sword away decades ago. 'Kinslayers have no honor.' Well, this kinslayer just dealt a blow to the enemy. You'd think that would be the only thing that matters." He glanced over at Arya, a little embarrassed. He hadn't meant to say that, especially to someone he wasn't sure he could trust.

Arya met his eyes, her expression giving away nothing. Finally, she looked away, glancing at the Unsullied on guard. "Honor does not win wars," she said softly. "I don't much care for it myself. Look at what honor did to my father."

Tyrion was at a loss for words. He looked down at the goblet in his hand, wondering if he should take another drink, wondering if he was drunk, wondering if he wanted to be drunk anymore. "Lady Arya, your sister..."

Arya's eyes snapped back to Tyrion and they were cold. Cold enough to take his breath away. "I did not ask you about her, did I, Imp? If I wanted to know about her, I would've asked."

She was going to say more, no doubt more that would make Tyrion wither, but he was saved by the sound of the door opening. He jumped out of his seat as the Khaleesi entered the room. After what seemed like a long moment, Arya decided to stand as well. The hesitation was noticed by all, but since the Khaleesi gave no sign of being offended, nothing was said.

"Lady Arya, Lord Tyrion, forgive me for making you wait, but there were matters that needed our attention," the Khaleesi said as she took her seat. Ser Barristan sat to the right of her and the Unsullied that Arya had learned was named Grey Worm sat down to her left. "The servants are bringing up food for you, but I'll hear your story now. It's been a long day for everyone, I think."

Tyrion snorted as he poured another cup of wine, ignoring the disapproving look Ser Barristan gave him. Arya caught it and had to hide her grin. Before, she had just been fascinated by the dwarf, not sure what to think of him. But now she decided she liked him.

"If it pleases you, Your Grace," Arya said, her tone dangerously close to mocking. Even she realized she needed to rein it in.

"It does." The Khaleesi's voice was sharp and Arya lowered her eyes. "I'm aware that you saved my life, but you broke into a heavily guarded building and your companion seems to have disappeared in thin air. Convince me I can trust you and I'll forget about those two things."

There. Now the Khaleesi sounded more like the rulers she knew. It was almost a relief.

"Start the day of your father's arrest," Ser Barristan suggested gently. Arya's eyes shot up and narrowed at the old knight. He thought he was helping her but he was doing the exact opposite. Sitting just a few feet away from her was one of her father's betrayers. It took everything she had not to draw Needle and cut the bastard's throat right then and there.

But then she caught Tyrion's eyes. He had a small smile on his face, a comforting one. That was what gave her strength to speak. The strength to finally tell her story.

"I was with my dancing master," Arya began, closing her eyes. "They came for me, but he stopped them. He told me to run and I ran. I ran to the stables and all my father's men were dead. The old and the young butchered by knights." She sneered, spitting out the word. She thought of the stable boy and how it felt when Needle went through his stomach. She thought of the blood that bubbled out of his mouth. She wouldn't tell them about him. That was a secret she'd keep for herself.

"I grabbed my sword. The one my brother gave me and I left the castle. I went to Flea Bottom." With her eyes closed, Arya didn't see the grimaces from Ser Barristan and Tyrion. "And I stayed there until the day I saw a crowd and decided to follow it. They were talking about the Hand. My father. I couldn't see anything so I climbed a statue and I saw my father as they led him through the crowd and he saw me."

The food came, but Arya didn't notice. A plate was set in front of her, but she didn't notice. One of the kitchen boys who stayed in case more was needed stood behind the Khaleesi, but she didn't notice. She didn't notice the look of compassion he gave her before remembering himself and looking away. She didn't notice anything. She was back in that day.

She did feel, however, Bran through their connection. She felt her brother giving her strength and telling her that she wasn't supposed to hold anything back. That the truth would make the Khaleesi trust her more. A tear ran down her cheek.

"He saw me and, for a moment, he was only a few inches away from me. I could've touched him he was that close. But I didn't. I only watched as they dragged him up the steps. He said what they told him to. It was a lie, but he said it and Sansa smiled as if everything was going to be okay. But it wasn't. Joffery called him a traitor and I knew what was going to happen. I saw Ser Ilyn Payne and he had Ice. He had my father's sword. Nobody was doing anything. I tried to help him. I drew Needle and I jumped down. I heard Joffrey say 'bring me his head'. I couldn't get there in time and I saw the look on his face... Then someone grabbed me and told me not to look. He held me until it was over and I didn't see it. I didn't see my father lose his head, but I think about it every night. Sometimes I wish I did see it because I imagine it happening and each time is worse than the last."

Arya fell silent, her eyes still closed. More tears ran down her cheeks but they were silent and slow, the only tears she was able to shed. She jumped when she felt a hand on her's and her eyes opened to Tyrion. He held a goblet of wine out to her. Arya preferred the taste of beer, but she took the wine gratefully, tilting her head back and emptying it quickly. Tyrion took it from her and filled it again before handing it back. This time she sipped more slowly.

"Lady Arya, Westeros lost one of the most honorable men that ever lived that day," Ser Barristan said. Arya's blood turned cold at the sound of his voice and she started to shake with rage.

 _Calm as still water_. Syrio Forel's voice came to her, echoing one of the sayings a Water Dancer lived by. _Calm as still water_. It wasn't working. She reached for Needle, but then she caught the eye of the serving boy that stood behind the Khaleesi. He held her gaze unflinchingly. Even though he wore a different face, she knew who it was. She had a feeling she'd know Jaqen H'ghar no matter what he face he wore. She should've been worried that he was here at all, but she wasn't. She found a different kind of strength in his eyes. One that made her quake inside. The strength stemmed from something she was just now beginning to understand. She lowered her hand and forced herself to look at Ser Barristan.

"Do not talk to me of him," she said in a low, dangerous tone. She once made the Hound blanch at the sound of that tone. She was quite proud of it.

Ser Barristan looked baffled and opened his mouth to question her, but the Khaleesi shook her head at him. She saw Arya reach for the sword and didn't want to have Grey Worm do the girl any harm. She would have to ask her about her reaction without Ser Barristan around.

"How did you get out of King's Landing?" Tyrion asked, noticing as well and wanting to move on from it. "They must've had guards at every gate."

Arya couldn't help but smirk at that, the wine suddenly taking effect. Now it just felt like a story she heard once, not something that happened to her long ago. "The Night's Watch."

Tyrion laughed, remembering the man he traveled with until that whole embarrassing debacle at the Eyrie. "Yoren. Good man," he nodded, but then his smile faded. If Arya never made it to Winterfell, that meant the Night's Watchman was dead. Arya nodded at the realization plainly written on his face.

"They killed him. Men sent by the Lannister's killed him because he tried to protect us." Arya took a sip of her wine, pushing more memories away. The more she remembered, the more she wanted to forget it all again and be no one. She glanced up at Jaqen, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "We were taken to Harrenhal, but some of us escaped." She wouldn't go into the details about that place. Meeting Jaqen there was a secret she wanted to keep for herself.

"Wait, wait," Tyrion interrupted. The Khaleesi and Ser Barristan shot him disapproving looks, but he ignored it. "You forgot the best part. Listen to this."

"While I was there, I was Lord Tywin's cupbearer," she sighed and then grinned as Tyrion laughed again. Even Ser Barristan guffawed at it. "And he had no idea." The Khaleesi let the two men laugh a while longer before motioning to Arya to continue. "After that it was a series of being caught and escaping. The Brotherhood without Banners found me next and wanted to ransom me to my mother, but I escaped. I don't like to be a thing for others to use like that."

Here the Khaleesi could relate. She looked at Arya, her features softening as she reevaluated her opinion of her. It was hard to be cold and distant at all times, but that was what a queen did.

"Then the Hound found me. He wanted the ransom-"

"Wait, did you say the Hound? What was he do-"

"Look, do you want me to finish the story or not? I can't if you keep interrupting me."

Tyrion looked abashed and sat back, crossing his arms as Arya continued. She told them about the Hound, but when she reached the part about that night in the Twins, her throat closed up.

With a sinking feeling, Tyrion knew what was going to happen next. He glanced at the Khaleesi, wanting to ask her to let Arya skip this part, but the woman was watching Arya. "Arya," he said softly. "You don't have to-"

"I was there. Just outside the gates. Only a wall away from them. I saw them kill Grey Wind, Robb's direwolf." There were no tears left anymore. She couldn't cry if she wanted to. The wine had blissfully dulled all her emotions. "And I saw them put Grey Wind's head on his body and parade him around the grounds. I tried to run inside and look for my mother, but the Hound stopped me."

Silence fell over them. Even the Khaleesi was overcome with emotion. It was the first time Tyrion had seen her show anything other than the cool royal airs she used to intimidate others. It was the best thing Arya could've done, telling her story like this. Nothing made the Khaleesi more angry than useless violence and injustice. She was on Arya's side now, for better or worse.

Arya started to speak again, her voice monotone. She talked of the Eyrie and of finding her aunt had died. She talked of the Hound being injured and of how she left him to die. As she talked, she pulled a coin out of her pocket and rolled it over her knuckles.

"At Harrenhal, I met a man." She felt Jaqen's eyes on her, but she didn't look up at him. "The most dangerous man I'd ever met. Probably will ever meet. I wanted him to teach me, but he said he'd have to take me with him then. I told him I had to find my family." Arya gave a bitter laugh. _What family?_ "So he gave me this coin and told me that when I was ready, all I had to do was find a Braavos ship and say 'valar morghulis'. Simple as that. When I left the Hound, I was ready. I went to the House of Black and White and that man," now she looked at Jaqen "that man took me in and taught me many things."

Ser Barristan sat up straight, disbelief on his face. Tyrion was shocked into silence again. The Khaleesi began to smile. It started out slow but grew the more Arya talked. Now her opinion of the girl had changed completely.

"He taught me how to change my face," Arya whispered, her fingers tracing the scars on her face. "He taught me how to kill in ways no one could ever imagine. He taught me the art of death and that, Khaleesi, that is what I bring to you. All of my skills are yours to use in your bid for the throne."

The others were still too shocked to speak, but the Khaleesi was more composed. A former Faceless Man by her side would be a weapon no one else had. She looked at Arya with new-found understanding. Respect couldn't begin to describe what she felt for the girl. To go through so much and come out like this. For the first time in a long time, the Khaleesi felt as if she met someone who could be her equal in this.

"Will you swear your loyalty to me?" the Khaleesi asked even though she knew the answer.

"No," Arya said honestly. "I'll give no oaths. I want to watch the Lannisters burn for what they did to my family and I'll stay with you until both our vengeance is done."

"You will swear, in time. I won't force your loyalty, Arya Stark," she said softly. "I'll earn it."

* * *

That night, after the table had been cleared, after Jaqen brushed by her with the lightest of touches, after they moved Arya to a larger room with an open balcony, after the Khaleesi dismissed them all, she laid in bed, her thoughts racing.

Retelling her story like that was almost like reliving it. She felt more like Arya Stark than she had in a long time. Just before sleep took her, she whispered the names she stopped saying over a year ago.

"Queen Cersei, Ser Ilyn Payne, Ser Meryn, the Mountain." More would be added before she was done, but tonight was a big step to clearing it.


	7. Chapter 7

(( **AN: As always, thank you all so very much for sticking with me for this long. I love you all more than you can imagine because of it. :D And here's another long one that I meant to be way longer. As a future warning, almost all the chapters from now on will be crazy long.** **Enjoy!** ))

Before Arya knew it, three weeks passed by. She spent almost every waking moment with the Khaleesi, watching and waiting for Jaqen to make a move. Grey Worm and the others were suspicious of Arya, especially after learning she was training to be one of the most feared assassins in the world, but the Khaleesi would hear none of their concerns and only allowed them to increase the guards around her at all time, nothing more. They didn't understand why the Khaleesi trusted her and neither did Arya.

But Tyrion did. He saw the similarities between them and their past. Only one rose to be a queen and the other trained to strike from the shadows. Different, yet the same. In the end, both would make sure the ones who destroyed their families burned or at least wished they did. He found much more amusement in it than he should, but he wisely kept it all to himself. He even kept it from Varys, who had slipped back to King's Landing to keep close to all his birdies, and he told that man everything.

They had taken to spending their evenings in the Khaleesi's chamber after everyone else had been dismissed. Those who were invited to join them on rare occasion were shocked to find that the Khaleesi almost treated Arya as an equal. It was odd, this budding friendship of their's. The only person she ever considered as a true friend was Gendry and she hadn't been able to save him when the Brotherhood sold him to the red witch. She never wanted another friend again, but the Khaleesi was making it hard not to have one.

One night, the Khaleesi talked Arya into letting her braid her hair. She remembered hating it when her mother made her stay still for that long, and she still did. Yet she suffered through it because the Khaleesi enjoyed doing it.. Her hair had grown long in the past three years and it was darker than from when she was a child, almost black. Even though she hated having her hair braided, for the first time in a long time, Arya felt like she had a sister. She was surprisingly comfortable with the other woman. She wondered if her and Sansa would've ever been like this. Given time, anything was possible.

That night, the Khaleesi told her about Drogo, her sun and stars, and asked Arya if she had ever loved someone. The question took her by surprise. Love? She never thought about love, not like Sansa. She never wanted it like her older sister did. In her childhood fancies, there had been adventures and fighting, dragons to discover and outlaws to slay, but never love. She tried to picture what kind of man she'd love, but the face that came to her unsettled her. In the silence, the Khaleesi must've guessed something.

"Who was that man who was with you that night?" she asked, tying Arya's hair up. "Is there a reason you haven't told me his name? He looked so worried about you."

Arya had closed her eyes, not wanting to answer, but knowing a response was expected. She knew she had to say _something_ about him. "He was no one. Once, I thought he was someone, but now I know better," she answered carefully. "He's gone, though. For better or worse, he's gone." It wasn't much of an answer, but it was all she could give her.

Later, the Khaleesi asked Arya to call her Dany when they were alone. No one had been given that privilege before.

Arya had to keep reminding herself that this was just a step to home. _Home_. But Bran pulling away from her made her wonder if it would ever feel like home again in Winterfell. She hadn't ached for it until she let her brother into her mind. And now that he was gone, the ache was fading.

* * *

There were plenty of distractions, though. When the Khaleesi held an audience in the throne room, Arya would go to the training grounds to practice with Needle, holding back her deadly skills with the blade when the Unsullied watched her. They didn't want the news of Arya Stark returning from the dead to make it back to Westeros just yet. She was to be a hidden weapon until the time was right. No matter how impatient all this waiting made her.

Arya saw the wisdom in that, but it still made her nervous with Jaqen still laying in wait for the right moment. So, when the Khaleesi was busy in the throne room, Arya would take the time to search for him. Sometimes as herself, but mostly as a cat. The orange tomcat she used before. She'd taken a liking to him and he to her. When she found him, she would watch from a distance, just to make sure he didn't make a mistake and alert the Unsullied of his presence. Arya knew he was good at what he did, one of the best actually, but she worried all the same. He'd gotten caught once before, it was likely to happen again if he wasn't careful.

Sometimes, late at night in the dark, she would wonder why she cared and why every glance from him made her quiver. _What does it mean?_

When the Khaleesi went to bed, Arya would come back to her chambers and _really_ practice with Needle. With no eyes on her, the pain from her shoulder would disappear and she would _dance_. She leapt and flew, dodged and rolled. She felt like water. It was the grace she never had as a child. She wondered if Syrio would be proud of what she mastered or if he would be angry about what she used the Water Dance for.

But soon the motions became monotonous and she grew bored with it. She didn't dare stop, though. It was something to keep her out of her bed and free of dreams.

Every night, after saying the names, she closed her eyes and opened them as Nymeria. The direwolf was still in excruciating pain and all the wolves she called to her were scattered. Anarchy ruled the Wolfswoods. Only a few loyal wolves remained by her side and kept her alive. They brought her their fresh kills, eating only when she had her fill (which wasn't much).

During the day, they would lead Nymeria out to a small spring by their den so she could have a drink whenever she needed one without moving too much. Two would stand guard over her while the others hunted. At night, they would bring the direwolf back into the den and sleep next to her, sharing their warmth.

But despite what the wolves were doing for Nymeria, she was getting worse. A wound had opened up in the exact same spot Arya had been stabbed and it was getting infected. Arya tried to call out to Bran to help her, but her brother had pulled away from her, leaving her alone. Again.

Arya was beginning to think she would have to prepare herself for another devastating loss. When she tried, though, the mere thought of it made her violently sick. Or maybe it was a remnant of Nymeria's sickness. It wasn't unusual for her to wake up and run to the new toilet they installed in one of her new rooms. She'd spend the better part of an hour staring down into the hole that was cut into the floor, watching the little river that ran underneath the pyramid grounds carry her vomit away.

Despite the promise of vengeance and a new-found place in this world, despair was beginning to eat away at Arya. Every morning reminded her of why she wanted to be no one.

And this particular day was one of her worst ones yet.

* * *

She'd woken up with the violent nausea again, watched the river wash away her evidence of a weakness, and somehow managed to vomit again on the clean tunic she had just put on. Arya was already running late to break her fast with the Khaleesi when she realized she'd forgotten Needle and part of her wanted to beg the day off. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed and pretend the day wasn't happening.

But she knew she couldn't. With her luck, Jaqen would decide that today was the day to finish the job.

By the time Arya made it to the Khaleesi's rooms, breakfast was already being cleared from the table and Ser Barristan sat in her usual seat, his voice low as he held a paper for the Khaleesi to look at. Tyrion sat at the other side of the Khaleesi, looking at the paper with an unhappy expression. They glanced up when Arya sat down at the table, slightly out of breath.

"There was no need for you to rush, Arya," the Khaleesi said with the rare genuine smile she reserved for those closest to her. "I was going to let you sleep. You looked like you needed it."

Arya shook her head, reaching for a bowl of grapes before it could be taken away. "I'll rest when I'm dead, your grace." She forced a smile and popped a grape in her mouth, talking as she chewed. (A habit her mother and Jaqen tried countless times to break before throwing their hands up in the air and giving up.) "Bad news?" She gestured to the paper in Ser Barristan's hands. "Looks like it from the look on your faces."

Ser Barristan grimaced while she talked, probably wondering how the great Lord Eddard Stark could produce such an ill-mannered child. Ever since Arya told them about her past as a Faceless Man, he'd been cold and often times ignored her. While she still wanted to cut his throat and couldn't stand the sight of him, it irked her. He had no right to judge her. If anything, she should be the one to treat him like that, but she didn't. The old knight was smart and wise, even if he was honorable. The Khaleesi respected his opinions and Arya needed her to get home. It was hard, but, this time, she swallowed the hate and bided her time. Once she didn't need the Khaleesi anymore, then she would take care of him.

The look Ser Barristan shot at her after she asked the question darkened her mood even more and her smile dropped. _Calm as still water_.

"It's from Astapor," the Khaleesi sighed. "It's always bad news. There's a grain shortage and a sickness that's spreading through the population. I don't think we can spare anymore healers. But we have grain..."

For once, the Khaleesi didn't notice the tension between the two. Tyrion did and his wide eyes went from Arya to the knight, wondering if this was going to be the day it came to blades. He hoped so. It was getting boring around here.

No, not yet. The Khaleesi stood, dismissing any possibility of something interesting happening. Tyrion let out a disappointed sigh as they all stood with her.

"We'll discuss it when the envoys from Astapor arrive. Now, though, I must dress for them. They should be here soon." Missandei followed her out, leaving the three of them alone together.

"Are there other healers that Yunkai could send?" Arya surprised herself with the question. She wasn't supposed to be worried about what the Khaleesi did here, she was only supposed to worry about Westeros and Winterfell.

Tyrion opened his mouth to answer, but Ser Barristan beat him to it.

"Nothing for you to worry about, _Lady_ Arya," he said testily, gathering up the other papers. "There'll be no need of your services in this matter."

Arya's eyes turned cold and Tyrion sat back down in his seat, waiting to be either entertained or a witness to a murder. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"What it means is that we won't need to resort to the most vile of killings," Ser Barristan said evenly. He wasn't afraid of the girl even though he saw what she could do with a blade. She was just a child and he was a seasoned warrior. "Poison. Attacking in the night. Changing your face just to commit a murder you get paid for. Where's the honor in that? What would your father think? He -"

Before he could comprehend what had just happened, he felt cold steel at his throat. Arya had moved so fast that he didn't even see it.

Tyrion's chair was on the ground and so was the dwarf, who was struggling to get up so he wouldn't miss a moment. He hadn't even seen the girl move either, much less feel her push the chair our of the way. He wondered if he should call for someone, but decided to give it a minute just to see what was going to happen.

"Never speak of him again," Arya whispered, pressing the blade of her hidden wrist-sheathed dagger harder into the old knight's skin. A drop of blood appeared.

Now it wasn't just her eyes that were cold, the whole room was cold. It felt as if winter had come to Meereen. Tyrion could almost imagine seeing his breath in the air. He saw the drop of blood and stood up. "Arya?" Either she didn't hear him or she was ignoring him. He wasn't about to touch her to get her attention. She was bound to take it as a hostile action. " _Lady_ Arya?" That had been a gamble, too, but she still hadn't heard him. ( _Thank the Gods._ ) With a glance at the old knight, he turned and rushed off to find someone braver than him to handle Arya.

"You keep telling me how honorable my father was, how good and noble. Do you know he spoke of you in the same way? Oh, he'd tell us grand stories about you, _Ser_. All of _your_ honor." The dagger was trembling in her hand as she tried not to push it in more. All she wanted to do was finish the bastard then and there, to feel his blood on her hands. Oh, it had been a long time since she felt pleasure like this in violence. "But what did you do to him? You were the one that threw him in the black cells. You were the one that put him in the dark all alone. He thought you a friend and you put him there. I want you to imagine what that was like for him. Imagine the fear, the pain, the despair, and the hopelessness. You did that to him all on the orders of an illegitimate bastard boy king. You took those orders and you didn't question them and you threw him in the black cells and you left my honorable father all alone. In the dark! You left him..."

Strong arms pulled at Arya, dragging her off Ser Barristan. Tears were running down her face as she fought against Grey Worm, trying to reach the bastard so she could kill him. She wanted him dead. He deserved to die. She wanted to plunge her dagger over and over into him until she stopped thinking about her father.

Now she was sobbing. When Arya realized that, she stopped. The dagger dropped to the floor and she collapsed into Grey Worm's hold. How embarrassing. Everyone was looking at her. Tyrion averted his eyes, knowing she wouldn't like to be seen like that. Ser Barristan clutched at his throat, his eyes wide in an almost comical mixture of bewilderment and fear. She wanted to laugh at it.

The Khaleesi... Dany, though... That was the one that embarrassed her the most. The Khaleesi looked at Arya, furious but concerned. Mostly furious. Arya had just attacked a member of her council and that could not go unpunished, no matter how much she cared for Arya. Her fists clenched tightly.

"Take her to her room and bar the door. She isn't to leave," the Khaleesi said in her coldest royal voice. "We will deal with the matter later. The envoys from Astapor are here now and we can't keep them waiting."

* * *

Grey Worm took Arya to her rooms himself, his grip tightening on her arm every time she tried to walk by herself. He said nothing and nothing showed on his face as he closed the doors and locked them. That was fine. Arya didn't have much to say to him either. She welcomed this separation from everyone else. She was alone. She was _always_ alone.

As soon as she heard the lock, Arya grabbed Needle and began to dance. This time it was a furious, consuming dance. She gave all of herself to each step. Tears still streamed down her face and she knew why she reacted like that. She knew why but didn't want to think about it.

When she stumbled during a simple move, Arya put down the sword and collapsed onto her bed. The sun was already setting. Soon, it would be dark. Soon, it would be a new day. She could only hope the emotional emptiness she felt would give her a deep, dreamless sleep.

It didn't.

* * *

 _Pain. It was all she felt. And death. It was all she could smell. Her death. Nymeria could feel something oozing out of the wound and she knew it wasn't blood. No matter how much the other wolves licked it, they couldn't get it clean. Nymeria felt their worry as strongly as she felt her pain. She wanted to get up and walk around to soothe their fears, but she couldn't. She couldn't even stand to relieve herself. She just went where she laid._

 _Her few, truly loyal, adopted pack howled mournfully at night. The end was coming for the direwolf and they could do nothing to stop it. They hadn't always been this intuitive, but after running with Nymeria they began to change. These were the ones that she first ran into; they'd been together since the beginning of her reign. She was almost sorry for making them a little more like her and her true pack. Once she died, they could do nothing but suffer with this new intelligence. She wondered if it would pass onto their pups. She wondered why she was the way she was, but it was okay. She could feel the other in her mind right now and that was good. She missed feeling this complete._

Please, please, please, _thought Arya_. Please don't die. Don't leave me. _The direwolf wanted to give the other a lick to comfort her, but she was passed that. They would never run together again._

 _One of them whined and crawled on its belly to Nymeria, nuzzling her before trying to clean the wound again. She let out a low growl to stop it. There was no point in it. It would only make the wolf sick. It whined and nuzzled her again. It only wanted to help, to give her comfort in her last days. The others settled around her, too, wishing and hoping like no other wolf south of the Wall ever had before._

 _Arya and Nymeria floated in pain together, each trying to comfort the other, until they heard a noise at the mouth of their little den. All the other wolves jumped up, their hackles raised. What fool would walk into a wolf den? What fool wouldn't see the danger? Prey, that's what fool._

 _They stalked toward the entrance as a cool breeze blew in, bringing in the scent. Nymeria's heart almost stopped. How had she not felt him when he was this close? She growled at the others, warning them to back off. They crouched down obediently as another direwolf came into view. Now, for the first time since she'd been hurt, Nymeria whined, her tail thumping the ground. She wanted to jump up and bark excitedly; she wanted to lick him and smell him and wrestle with him just as they did when they were pups._

 _It was Summer. Summer had come to her. He sniffed his sister's wound and gave it a gentle lick, whining softly. He nuzzled Nymeria in greeting, licking her face, trying to reassure her. Two more figures came into view, but they weren't wolves. One was a girl neither Arya or Nymeria ever met before and the other was..._

 _"Hodor," Hodor greeted. At that moment, Arya thought the ever-present odd small smile on the gentle giant's face was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen and his eyes shone like sunshine after a storm, but then something about them changed. An intelligence entered the normally vacant gaze. Hodor knelt and placed a hand on the direwolf's head, stroking it softly and glancing at the girl._

 _The girl was silent as she inspected Nymeria's wound. The only thing that stopped her from snapping at the human was Summer's reassuring presence. Even though Arya wasn't physically there, she could feel the tension in Hodor and Summer._

 _Finally, the girl sat up and nodded. "She'll live as long as we get a poultice on it."_

 _Hodor smiled and looked down at Nymeria. "Arya, sister. It's okay. We'll take care of her now."_

 _The joy and shock of hearing Bran's voice coming from Hodor was too much for her to contain. Nymeria closed her eyes and-_

Arya opened her own. She sat straight up, laughing out loud, and came face-to-face with Jaqen H'ghar.

* * *

The man smiled that slow, easy smile at her. He sat on the edge of Arya's bed, just like she used to find him almost every night when they were at the House of Black and White. He smelled of cloves and his hair looked soft and clean. He always was a bit vain about his appearance when he wore this face. She used to tease him about it.

"The girl is happy to see this man, then?" Jaqen asked, cocking an eyebrow. "It has been a while since these eyes have seen you, lovely girl. They miss you."

Arya wanted to be happy to see him, she wanted the laughter to be for him, but his presence worried her. Why was he here at all? He should be trailing the Khaleesi unless... He shook his head, seeing her distress.

"No, no," he murmured, placing a finger under her chin and tilting her head up. "Your Mother of Dragons is safe for now. You don't need to worry. It is not a day for you to worry about anything. A girl should be celebrating, she should not be locked up like this. Lovely girl, you should watch your temper. It gets you into trouble. Hasn't this man taught you better than that?"

Arya colored and looked away. He had the right of it, he always had the right of it. "It hasn't been a good day," she said softly. "Why are you here?" She thought she might know, but didn't want to presume too much about how close they actually were.

Jaqen laughed. "A name day is to be celebrated, is it not? This man saw you here all alone and had to come help you realize that."

Her name day. So he had known. Suddenly Arya was too overcome with emotion to speak. She hadn't celebrated her name day since she left Winterfell and now, here this man was, wanting her to be happy, wanting to help her, and it was almost too much to take. She looked away, but he reached up and cupped her face, wiping away the lone tear that fell. He kept his hand there, locking his eyes on her's.

"No more tears, lovely girl," Jaqen murmured. "You've indulged in your self-pity long enough." Though his tone was stern, there was a kind of understanding in his eyes. "You forget your training and let your emotions control you. The vengeance you seek will not come to pass if you continue on like this."

The old Arya Stark would've been indignant and immediately insist that he was wrong, that she was in absolute control of her emotions. But she had changed. She'd seen and done too much, all with Jaqen by her side almost every step of the way. She knew he was right. He'd be the only person she'd admit that to. She had acted the child earlier.

She leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his callused hands. It had been a long time since Jaqen touched her. She missed it. She didn't know why, but she truly missed it. Her quick eyes noticed the pulse in his throat speed up. Her's did, too. _What does this mean?_ She wanted to ask him, but, as always, the question stuck in her throat.

Abruptly, Jaqen pulled away and the moment was over. Arya was relieved and also a little bit disappointed. He didn't give her time to think about it. He stood and went over to her chest. A long wooden box she hadn't notice before was on top of it.

"A girl deserves a special present on her seventeenth name day," Jaqen said in a husky voice, handing her the gift. "Especially since a man knows she hasn't celebrated her name day in a very long time."

Arya took it, too shocked to thank him just yet. It was beautiful; smooth and carved with a highly detailed scene of six direwolves surrounding a weirtree. She ran her fingers over it and slowly traced the face in the tree. There was a loud click and a hidden compartment slid out. Inside was Needle, looking brand new on a lining of blue velvet. But... Arya glanced at her bedside table. Needle was right there where she left it before falling asleep. She looked at the box again, noticing it was just the right width for two swords to lay side by side. Two identical swords.

Arya looked up at Jaqen, wondering what he meant for her to do with them, but she didn't have to wonder for very long. The man held two of his own swords in his hands.

"A girl has mastered the Water Dance already. She cannot get any better," Jaqen grinned, adopting a defensive stance. "Now it is time to learn a new dance. A much more deadly dance. Arm yourself, lovely girl. We'll begin right now."

She didn't need to be told twice. Arya jumped up, swords in hands. He gave her a moment to check the balance of her new sword. It was a perfect copy of Needle, even in the balance. Grinning, she lifted the blades up and... stopped.

"Hold on." She narrowed her eyes at him and pointed the blades to the ground. "How did you know I mastered the Water Dance already? I've only been doing it in here."

"A man has his ways." There was a suspiciously mischievous glint in his eye.

"Have you been watching me through the balcony?"

"A man can only say that is a possibility. Now, put your blades up."

"This whole time, you've been watching me? Every night? What about when I change? Have you seen me naked?"

The grin that Jaqen flashed her was outright wicked, sending an unnervingly exciting thrill through her whole body. "A man sees many things, lovely girl. Now, attack with the flat of your blades or I will."

 _Gladly_ , Arya thought to herself as she lunged. He deflected it, knocking her new sword out of her hands.

"Again," he ordered when she retrieved it. He taught the way Syrio had taught, which made it easier. By the time he put his own swords down, she lost count of how many times he barked 'again' at her. Never once had she been able to hit him. It was different from Water Dancing, although the same skills were required. Quickness, balance, and the ability to see more than what your eyes could. She loved it. She also loved the promise of how dangerous she would be when she learned it.

"Enough," he announced after she stumbled for the first time. "Tired girls are dangerous with sharp blades. We'll pick up where we left off tomorrow night."

As Arya laid her swords in her new case, a thought occurred to her. It was something she should've picked up before. She turned back to Jaqen, waiting until he noticed her looking at him before asking the question.

"Earlier, you said you watched me through the balcony," she began slowly. Jaqen sat down on her bed, an apologetic expression on his face, though it was offset by the small smile he always wore around her. "Why are you watching me at all? Shouldn't you be watching the Khaleesi instead of me?"

The smile dropped and his expression became guarded. Just like when she whispered his own name to him. For a long time, he just looked at her. "And here I thought you didn't want her death," he finally said, forcing a light tone. Arya caught that at least. "Why are you worried about how a man works?"

"That's not an answer." Arya stepped closer to him, her eyes studying his expression for a hidden clue. She didn't stop until she was a few inches in front of him. Taking a page from his book, she placed a finger underneath his chin and tilted his head up. Still, she didn't talk, only continued to search for an answer with her eyes. Then she saw it. "You've had dozen of chances, haven't you? You have, don't lie."

Jaqen answered with his silence. This time, as she looked down at him, she noticed something different in his eyes. _Desire_. Or maybe it had been there all the time before and she was only just now seeing it because she finally understood. She leaned down, closing the distance between their lips, but she didn't kiss him yet.

"Is that what this is?" Arya whispered, her lips brushing against his.

Jaqen held onto her hips as if he couldn't decide to pull her closer or push her away. His voice sounded strained when he spoke. "If you have to ask, then you are not ready." But he still didn't push her away. In fact, he held onto her tighter.

"Oh, no, I'm ready now." She didn't wait for a response. Her lips met his as she pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him. Having never even had the urge to kiss anyone before, she didn't really know what she was doing, but instinct kicked in when Jaqen began to kiss her back. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled so he was on top. She almost hated herself for liking that even more, him taking control. She was a wolf and wolves submitted to no one. Then he deepened the kiss and pressed himself against her. All thought went out the window when she felt him hardening. That she could cause a reaction like this from the calm and always collected Jaqen H'ghar was unbelievable.

He pulled his lips away from her's, but stayed close, his breath hitching as he very slowly moved his hips against her just once more before stopping. "No, evil girl, no, this man cannot do this," he breathed. Despite his protests, he still held her. "You don't understand. Even though a man wants, it does not mean he can have."

Arya ran her tongue along his bottom lip, tasting him as she tried not to hear his protests. "Just once," she whispered. "Stay with me. You want to, I know you do."

"No." The word came out in such an anguished voice that Arya opened her eyes and saw an equally anguished expression. She let him pull away from her this time, an emptiness filling her as he stood. "This man should not have let that happen. He is weak and forgets himself. You cannot understand what you ask of him."

Arya said nothing. What could she say? Nothing was going to make Jaqen fall back into her arms again and that was all she wanted, all she longed for. She looked away from him and rolled onto her side, curling up into herself. The empty feeling was still there and she hated herself for it. Nothing would be the same between them anymore. If she hadn't been so impulsive, none of this would've happened. No, if she had just stayed no one, this wouldn't have even begun. If she had stayed no one, Nymeria wouldn't have been hurt. If she had stayed no one, nothing would ever make her feel again and that would've been fine. She wished they were back at the House of Black and White.

When Arya lifted her head again, she saw Jaqen had left without making a single noise. Almost as if he'd never been there at all.

(( **AN: Since I meant this chapter to have a lot more happen, I'll give you a preview of what's going to happen in the next one.**

 **-** ** _A breakfast conversation between Tyrion and Arya.  
-Another nighttime lesson with Jaqen.  
-And Arya is finally given a mission._** ))


	8. Chapter 8

(( **AN: When I said it was going to get longer, I didn't lie. I agonized over every word for some reason, that's what took me so long. I'll get the next one up sooner, I hope. This chapter contains some graphic scenes, both violent and otherwise. I don't think it's too bad, but I just wanted to warn you. Also, thank you all so much for the follows/favorite/reviews! And an extra special thank you to the guest that left the last comment. There's more to come, so don't worry about all that me not finishing.** ))

* * *

Morning came slowly for Arya. She laid in the same position Jaqen left her in and watched the sun raise shadows across the floor. Sleep wouldn't come, no matter how hard she reached for it. She had thought that losing herself in Nymeria would make the emptiness go away, but even that simple escape was denied to her. Her whole life almost everything she wanted was denied to her. Home. Family. Revenge. Freedom. _Jaqen_. She had learned to make due in the past. She'd suffer through this silently just as she did with the others until a new disappointment appeared on the horizon. Because they never stopped. _It never ever stops_.

Except for Nymeria. Nymeria lived and so did Bran in his own way. But when she tried to remind herself of that, more questions and worries and fears would come to her. _What of Rickon? What of Sansa? And Jon... What of Jon?_

Arya focused on the shadows to keep her mind clear of those runaway thoughts. She wondered if it was possible to just fade away into them, to travel through the darkness and literally strike from the shadows at anyone she wanted to kill. There were a lot of people she wanted to kill, which wasn't unusual, but Tyrion had helped her expand it by telling her the names of the ones who betrayed her mother and brother. They were the worst offenders.

 _Roose Bolton_.

 _Walder Frey_.

Those were the ones she'd kill first if she could fly through the shadows. It'd be slow deaths, too. She'd flay Bolton very carefully to keep him alive as long as she could for turning over to the Lannister's side. For killing guests under his roof after feeding them, she'd probably cut Frey's manhood off and stuff it down his throat so he choked on it. It was the worst possible thing she could think of. And if they begged for mercy, she'd only make it hurt more.

The violent fantasies comforted her because she knew that if she was face to face with any of the people on her list, she could do it. She could kill them in excruciating, horrible ways and not give it a second thought. She could watch the light in their eyes fade to nothing and keep it as a cherished memory. Just like Polliver. Just like Rorge. Dreaming of their deaths were the only good dreams she ever had.

Arya was just beginning to think of a special way to torture Queen Cersei when she heard the lock click and her door open a few inches. She sat up, hoping it was the Khaleesi coming to tell her she could get out.

"Are you decent?"

Not the Khaleesi, only Tyrion. Arya sighed. No freedom just yet, then. There were worse things. Although if she was forced to stay here any longer, she'd start to get angry. She wasn't a child. (Nevermind that a childish emotional outburst was what got her sent to her room in the first place.) She almost rather be in a cell.

Still, she liked Tyrion enough not to snap at him because she was frustrated. She always looked forward to their conversations.

"No," she answered honestly, standing up and stretching. "I'm never decent."

The door opened more and Tyrion stepped in, followed by a maid and a kitchen girl carrying food trays. The smell of the eggs made Arya's stomach growl. She was famished.

"Good, I hate decency," Tyrion shuddered. "Ruins all the fun things." He gestured to the table that was being set for them. "I thought you might like my company. And food, but I'm sure that's just an afterthought."

Arya actually cracked a smile. A wobbly one, but it was a start. She sat down in the chair Tyrion pulled out for her. The kitchen girl left when they were done, but the maid stayed behind in case anything else was needed. Arya eyed her, positive she'd seen her from somewhere else before.

"Feeling homicidal today?" Tyrion asked nonchalantly, drawing her attention away from the girl. "There's a stable boy that owes me money. I was wondering if I could bring him up for a little chat."

Arya practically shoveled in bite after bite of her eggs and decided to ignore that. She was too hungry to think of a comeback at the moment.

Tyrion stopped buttering his toast and watched her in astonishment. The girl was absolutely nothing like her sister. No wonder Sansa had treated Arya like an embarrassment. But, he loved it. One can only take so much properness before going crazy. This was refreshing.

"Seven hells, woman! Slow down," he laughed. "You're going to choke. I've seen Stone Crows with more manners than you." He took a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice. "Actually, don't stop. It's too entertaining."

By then, Arya had managed to inhale enough to be able to slow down and enjoy it.. She grinned through a mouthful of food. "You should see me at dinner parties." She made a face. "I never got invited to much of those, now that I think about it. Don't know why."

"Yes, well, your reputation certainly precedes you, Lady Arya," he said with an innocent smile, thinking about all the tales Sansa told him about her rude sister when they had been friendly with each other for a few weeks.

"So does yours," Arya pointed out, swallowing her food. "I seem to recall a drunken Imp waking up in our pig pen once or twice."

"Once. And in my defense, I was convinced the pig was a morbidly obese old woman that was forced to sleep outside in the mud. I couldn't let her sleep alone. Bad manners."

Finally, Arya let out a real laugh and sat back in her seat. In the past three weeks, Tyrion had made her laugh more times than she could count. She always felt some of the weight on her shoulders lessen when he was around.

They sat in silence for a moment, eating and enjoying the morning breeze coming in from the balcony.

"So...," Arya began, not really wanting to. Best to get it over with. "The Khaleesi. Is it a bad sign that she's not here?"

Tyrion grimaced. He'd been dreading this bit, too. "Yes and no is the simple answer, I guess. No, because the Astapor situation has gone quite critical. As it turns out, there wasn't a grain shortage. The rich were just hoarding it all to themselves. You know, the usual atrocities that the rich rain down on the poor. Now it's riots that are erupting on the streets. Riots and sickness. They're meeting right now with the envoys to discuss whether military action needs to be employed."

Arya studied his face carefully, noticing that he was becoming bitter again about something. "And why aren't you at the meeting, too?" For a quick second, Tyrion looked angry. Ah, there it was.

"Our friend thinks that if word gets out that the Khaleesi has Tyrion Lannister, the kinslaying Imp, on her council, then the people of Westeros won't accept her," he spat out, looking disgusted by it all. "I'm not well liked in our homeland." Now he was really bitter. Arya hated it when he got like that, but she understood it all too well. "You know, I saved that damned city. All of King's Landing. And they still blame me for everything Joffrey did."

"Sheep," Arya said in a low voice so they wouldn't be overheard. "That's all they are. They believe everything they're told. I can't stand them, but the biggest one of all is Selmy." She hated calling the old knight Ser anymore. "He has too much sway over the Khaleesi. His ways are the old ways and look at how that always ends."

She glanced over at the maid who stood off to their side, eyes staring off into the distance and being quiet as a mouse. Tyrion caught her glance and nodded.

"You know, we're quite fine here," he called out to the girl, flashing her his best charming smile. She looked at him, but there was something off about the way she did it. Arya couldn't put her finger on it. "You don't have to wait around."

"I- I was told to stay, my lord," the girl said in a trembling voice.

Tyrion looked pained for a moment, but Arya didn't have his charm or patience. She snapped at her. "And now you're being told to leave, so leave."

Tyrion gave Arya an exasperated look as the girl stammered some nonsense and gave them an awkward bow before leaving. Arya watched her go, still finding something odd about her eyes.

When she turned back to him, she caught the dwarf's look and shrugged. "What? She's gone, isn't she?"

"That's not the- Oh, nevermind," Tyrion said, waving it off. "Let's just..." He sighed and rubbed his eyes before speaking again. "I agree completely about the old goat knight, but there's nothing I can do about it. And there's definitely nothing _you_ can do about it. Especially after yesterday."

Arya groaned and leaned back into her chair. "He won't let me get away with that, will he? I'll never live it down. I was such an idiot."

"No, not an idiot," he reassured her. "You had absolutely every right to be angry with him. I can't begrudge you that, Arya. But, a word of advice, try not to draw anymore blood, okay? He's been trying to convince the Khaleesi that you can't be controlled and the only use you have to her is as a Stark to marry off." Arya's nostrils flared, but Tyrion bravely continued talking, knowing that what she was going to hear would make her even more enraged. "He's already received an offer. From the Greyjoys."

 _Calm as still water_.

"And the Khaleesi let him offer me up as a sacrifice? I thought I was supposed to be kept a secret." Arya said, her voice dangerously calm and quiet. And she had thought of her as a sister once. "If she thinks-"

"No. The Khaleesi doesn't know yet and you weren't mentioned by name," Tyrion interrupted. "He just mentioned an alliance that would give them the Iron Islands and Winterfell. I only found out because I'm nosy and like to read other people's mail." He paused, noticing the look of betrayal in Arya's eyes. "She's a queen, you know. Queens can't have friends while still being impartial. This is hard on her, too. Keeping you in here like this."

Arya shook her head, wanting to move on. She knew that. The Khaleesi had a better handle on her own emotions than Arya did on her's. "I didn't come here to be sold. If it comes to that, I'm leaving. And the gods help whoever stands in my way. I won't play the game, Tyrion."

He studied her eyes, seeing the resolve. "If you leave, you might make it. You're not under heavy guard, which you should take as a good sign that the Khaleesi still trusts you, but why risk it?" He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "You know this is the only way you can get your revenge. She _will_ win, we both know that, too. She'll win it quicker if we're by her side. So, let me ask you a question. Do you trust me?"

The question surprised her. Did she trust him? If the question had been asked the first week they were here, then the answer would've been 'no' without a second thought. But now? "Do I have a choice?"

"No," he said, smiling. "I have a plan that will help both of us. But I can't tell you yet. And it's going to take a couple days for me to get back to you on whether or not it's going to work. I think it will. Well, I hope it will or we're both screwed. All I ask is that you trust me and wait before doing anything rash."

It sounded like another game to Arya and she didn't want the details. She only cared about the end result. It wasn't like there was anything else she could do except leave, but Bran's insistence about staying with the Khaleesi had been strong enough to let her give Tyrion a chance at his plan. All she could do was wait like a quiet little _mouse_. It left a horrid taste in her mouth.

* * *

After the table was cleared and Tyrion took his leave of her, Arya went into the bathing room and drew a hot bath. The water was pumped from some hidden warm spring deep in the ground, just like Winterfell. The tub she stepped into was large and carved out of limestone. It was so grand that when she first saw it, she didn't know what it was used for until Tyrion told her she stunk one night when he was drunk and opinionated. She'd slapped him and only apologized when he showed her how to pump the water into the tub. Now she took a bath every chance she got. All of her swordplay usually left her with aching muscles that only the foul-smelling hot water could ease.

Arya refused to use the oils the Khaleesi gave her to cover the smell. Mostly because she teased Jaqen about it every time she caught him smelling like roses. This time, however, she used the lavender oil because she remembered Old Nan used to sniff it to keep away bad dreams. It worked.

She fell asleep in the tub, expecting to find Nymeria with Summer, but her direwolf must've been asleep as well. She dreamed she was hunting with all the members of her true-pack, even the one that was lost was there. They stalked a creature that was so very old and so very deadly. But they were confident. With the six of them together, nothing could hurt them.

It was a rare good dream.

With a jolt, Arya woke up in rapidly cooling water. Her feet were wrinkly and soft, but not her hands, thankfully. She'd kept those out of the water. She slipped the silk robe the Khaleesi had given her on, tying it as she walked over to her chest. Her cheeks grew red when she remembered Jaqen's confession last night about watching her through the balcony.

She wondered if he was watching tonight. She wondered if he would still come to teach her his deadly dance. Jaqen wasn't the type to let anything get in the way of training. Not even something as embarrassing as what happened last night would stop him.

And it didn't. Jaqen came back that night and Arya was ready with her swords. He wouldn't smile at her, though, or engage in any small talk. He only told her to attack. Again. Again. Again. It was a brutal lesson, not at all like the night before. With nothing else to distract her, she focused on the dance, falling into the rhythm like never before.

He called it to a stop when she struck him. It had been an accident, but Arya couldn't deny that the blood welling up from the shallow cut on his arm made her feel a little better. Jaqen ignored it, only told her to be ready again tomorrow night. Then they would work on stances now that she was used to holding a sword in both hands. He didn't even bid her good night when he left, silently leaving through the balcony.

Arya put her swords away and hoped the cut would sting later when he cleaned it.

 _Calm as still water_.

* * *

 _She dreamt of Nymeria and Summer laying together in front of a warm fire as snow fell outside the den. The girl sat on the other side of the fire, staring into it, her brow furrowed. Arya thought of Thoros and wondered if the girl could see pictures in the flames like he claimed he could do._

 _The other wolves slept all around them, resting easier than they had been. One of them shifted and she saw Hodor among them, the gentle giant lay curled up with a smile on his face. She almost couldn't believe it until she remembered that, as pups, the direwolves loved Hodor more than anyone else outside their pack, save for the Starks and Snow. Maybe these wolves loved him just like the direwolves had._

 _Nymeria felt no more pain. She was weak, but that had been expected. Once she built her strength back up, she meant to go out into the Wolfswood and take back control of the wild packs. Sleep called to her now, though. The healing kind that couldn't be ignored. Nymeria closed her eyes and took Arya with her as she slipped into a dream._

 _It was the same one as before. The true-pack still stalked the creature and they were getting closer. Grey Wind led them on as Ghost, silent as always, scouted ahead. The scent of death was in the air, not the natural death that every living thing came to know. This smell came from something unnatural that needed to be put down and it was all around them now._

 _Shadows grew, taking the shape of creatures men hadn't seen since the Long Night..._

The sound of her door unlocking brought Arya out of Nymeria's dream. She opened her eyes, confused until she remembered where she was. For a moment, the shadows the morning light created in her room looked like the ones from Nymeria's dream. Nymeria hadn't been afraid of them, but Arya had been terrified. She remembered Old Nan's stories of the White Walkers and shivered. Even in Meereen she couldn't escape those ancient childhood nightmares.

A knock at her door made her jump. She'd been expecting Tyrion to just barge in with an 'are you decent', it wasn't like him to knock. Arya went to the door and opened it just enough to see who was there. It was the maid with the odd eyes.

"Lord Tyrion bid me to tell you that he's sorry, but he won't be able to join you for breakfast. Ser Barristan has taken ill so he's to attend the Khaleesi in the talks with the envoys from Astapor," the maid said quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth. "He's sent you breakfast. Would you like us to set it out for you?"

Arya nodded and opened the door the rest the way. "The knight's taken ill?" she smirked, stepping back to let them in. "How unfortunate."

The table was set and, thankfully, the maid didn't try to stay behind this time. The woman's eyes still unsettled her.

The rest of the day was left open and Arya began to feel stir crazy. She practiced with Needle and its twin, stopping only when lunch and dinner came. When the empty plates were picked up, she was told the doors would remain unlocked, but she was still forbidden to leave her chambers.

Knowing that the doors would remain unlocked made Arya feel better than before. Now she didn't feel like a caged animal. Tyrion's plan seemed to be working because she knew the old knight wouldn't've let that happen.

It felt like an eternity passed before Jaqen came that night. This time he brought her two training swords. Maybe he realized it wasn't a good idea to give Arya a blade after the hit she scored last night. She didn't blame him.

He was much the same as the night before, but grew worse as the lesson went on. He found fault with everything she did. Her grip was too tight or too loose. The move wasn't executed with precision. She leapt when she should've blocked. He took to forcibly positioning her body when she wasn't exact with the stance. She was too angry to notice the slight tremor in his hands whenever he touched her.

Before the end of the lesson, they sparred. It was obvious Jaqen was holding back his anger in the way he moved, but Arya did no such thing. She scored a hit in the same place she had the night before and didn't even bother to hide her satisfaction when the cut reopened. He left without saying good night again.

 _Calm as still water_.

* * *

The next day began the same, with Tyrion sending her breakfast and his apologies. The old knight was still sick and he had to attend the Khaleesi in the talks with Astapor again. Arya laughed at that, earning startled glances from the maid and kitchen girl. She practiced all day again, pausing only for meals. After dinner, the maid told her the Khaleesi would see her in the morning. _Finally_. She hoped it was because Tyrion was successful in his plan.

Arya took a hot bath that night as she waited for Jaqen. Her muscles were too sore to go through another lesson without it. It also helped her to relax. This whole thing between them needed to end. They had too much history between them to let something like the other night ruin it. She'd just swallow her pride and apologize. She didn't want to lose him like she'd lost everyone else. When they finally parted, she wanted it to be on semi-friendly terms.

The water was cool when she finally stepped out, feeling much better. Her robe hung on a hook by the door and she slipped it on before hurrying to get her clean clothes from her chest. The bath had taken longer than she thought it would. Jaqen would be there any second.

Arya began to open her chest, but something on her bedside table caught her eye. Bright green leaves from a plant she'd seen somewhere once before but couldn't place. She went to pick them up, but stopped. Underneath the leaves was a coin that looked exactly like the one Jaqen gave her so long ago, only this one was broken in half.

She rushed back to her chest and threw all her clothes out. At the bottom was a loose board where she hid her coin three weeks ago. No one else could've known because she was the one who made it loose in the first place. Arya ripped it up and found nothing. Her coin. That was her coin. How? _How?_

The leaves. Now Arya she'd seen them at. The House of Black and White. They grew it in a special nursery and used the leaves to make the rarest of poisons. The Strangler. Arya's knees felt a bit weak as she stumbled back to the bedside table. She didn't dare touch the leaves because they could be just as deadly alone if one wasn't careful. She sat down on the floor heavily, gathering her robe around her as she shivered.

Why would Jaqen do that? It had to be him. Only three other people knew about it, and they didn't have access to that plant like he did. But it didn't make sense. Was it a warning? Maybe a message, like his way of saying goodbye.

Ice filled her veins and winter took her heart. It felt more like a warning more than a goodbye. Why else use poisonous leaves? Arya must've done more harm to their relationship than she realized. She was wondering if she should be worried for her own safety when she heard something behind her. A soft whisper of someone breathing.

She turned, thinking it was Jaqen and readied herself to slap him, but something hit her hard in the stomach, knocking the air out of her, and she fell to her hands and knees. _A staff?_

It all became clear to Arya. The maid with the eyes that seemed off, the poison leaves, and that staff. _The Waif_. The blind woman with her icy, dead eyes. She was the one who handled all the poisons for their jobs. Arya had even trained under her for awhile, learning how to mix her own deadly concoctions. But what in seven hells was The Waif doing here in Meereen?

Before she could ask, another blow hit Arya across the back, knocking her to the floor. The bitch may be blind, but she was the only other one beside Jaqen who could best her in a fight. The Waif was quick in ways that Arya could only dream of. If she didn't find a weapon fast, this would be over embarrassingly quickly.

Arya rolled, dodging another blow, and jumped to her feet. Needle and its twin were locked away in their box, but the daggers she wore were out of their sheaths and waiting to be sharpened on the table. The staff caught her feet and she went sprawling. Her robe fell open and her skin scraped across the rough floor.

Before she could scramble back up, the woman was on top of her, turning Arya over on her back and straddling her. The staff was across her windpipe, cutting off her air, and all she could do was flail like a weak little girl. Her humiliation was worse than her fear. She looked up at The Waif, but her face held no expression.

"You were given a coin," the woman said in a monotone voice. "You were given a coin that you didn't earn and now you think you can stop a man from doing his duty. The Many-Faced God will have your death for this."

Arya's vision was beginning to go dark and her struggles were growing weaker. How humiliating. Death by a blind girl. Arya really wanted to laugh, but she was so tired... She heard the wings again and all the other sounds that came with it. It was a lullaby now that she really listened to it.

Suddenly, the pressure was gone and she could breathe. Arya coughed and retched as she sucked in beautiful air. Her vision came back with startling clarity and she saw The Waif trying to struggle out of Jaqen H'ghar's grasp. He had snuck up behind her and grabbed her before she could finish killing Arya. The Waif bucked and kicked, trying to throw him off or, at the least, grab the dagger he held in one hand.

Arya grabbed the staff the woman had dropped and slammed the end of it into her stomach. It was enough to give Jaqen the upper hand. He tightened his grip on her, bringing the tip of the dagger to the pulse in the woman's neck.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jaqen hissed. Arya paled. She'd never heard the man so angry. It reminded her just how dangerous he was. "Her name has not been whispered and she is free to go."

"Valar dohaeris," The Waif spat, trying to pull the dagger away from her neck, but Jaqen was like stone. "A man must serve. He cannot let a little child stop him. If she is dead, then a man can do his duty and forget about her."

"If you wanted her dead, you could've poisoned her," he said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "This isn't the way we serve."

"A man must remember that death comes to all," she said, her voice chilling Arya to the bone. "And it comes in many forms."

Jaqen looked at Arya, but she couldn't read his expression. What if he decided she was right? Years of betrayals made her wary. He had served the Many-Face God for decades, maybe longer than Arya had been alive. He was devout, the most dedicated of them all in fact. What could possibly stop the man from doing his duty? It couldn't be her. It couldn't.

 _Could it?_

Jaqen's eyes locked on Arya's as he tightened his hold on The Waif. It seemed he had come to a decision. Arya subtly took a defensive stance, slightly raising the staff in case they attacked. But his eyes... They _burned_ into Arya, straight to her heart. Now she saw that he was right when he told her she didn't understand. Something great and terrible hid behind the desire. Something she could never escape from even if she wanted to. The staff fell from her fingers, clattering to the floor.

"Do you remember the boy from the streets of Braavos?" His quiet voice cut through the tense silence that followed. With his eyes still on her's, it took Arya a bewildered moment before she realized he wasn't talking to her.

"Yes," whispered The Waif. "A woman found the boy slowly dying of starvation and took him in to train for service of the god."

"You fed the boy. You taught the boy. And then you turned the boy into no one and gave him a coin."

"The man the boy is now should feel privileged," she hissed. "There is nothing holier than the gift of death."

"Did the other's send you to make a man serve?" The knife at her throat trembled very slightly.

The Waif closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing what her fate would be. "No."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"Does anyone know where you are?"

She hesitated. "No."

"Good." Never taking his eyes from Arya's, Jaqen slid the blade into The Waif's neck in one smooth move and twisted the blade. Blood poured from the death wound, covering his hands, falling to the floor, and staining the rug. It was a messy death. The Waif jerked once, then stilled. She was dead.

Arya felt that she should be horrified. Even after all the deaths she'd witnessed and caused, this was one of the worst, if only because it was the death of a fellow Faceless Man. One who had helped train her. But she wasn't. She wasn't even looking at the body or the blood.

She was looking only at Jaqen, and he at her. He had killed for her. It was far different from killing the names she whispered or the guards at Harrenhal. He had killed because, if not, it would've been Arya's death. He chose to kill the woman who trained him so she could live. A thrill ran through her body just at the thought of it and she pulled her robe close around her.

Finally, Jaqen broke eye contact and pulled the knife out of The Waif's throat. He loosened his grip on the body so he could gently pick her up. When he looked down at her, Arya thought she saw a flash of sadness, but it was gone when he glanced at her, motioning with a jerk of his head for her to follow him to the bathing chamber.

Arya didn't need for him to tell her what he intended to do, They always worked together like that. But this was a different kind of silence between them. The moment felt important, as if talking would ruin it. Something had happened; something that would change everything.

She grabbed the blood-stained rug and stepped ahead of Jaqen to push the stone lid off the hole in the floor. The sound of a rushing river grew louder when it was uncovered. The hole was narrow, but The Waif was tiny enough to fit through it. He hesitated, only for a moment, but Arya saw the sadness again. Then, with an expression of stony resolve, he dropped the body through the hole along with the knife he used to kill her. The rug followed after them.

After the lid was replaced, Arya left the room to give Jaqen a moment to himself. And also to think about everything that had just occurred. Arya couldn't admit to what she saw in his eyes as he made sure she knew who he was killing for her. She should. Only sheep hid from plain truths like that one. She just didn't think she was worthy of what he felt.

Arya was looking down at the blood that didn't fall on the rug when Jaqen came up behind her, stopping by her side. She glanced at him discreetly, wondering if she should say anything, but his head was bowed and his eyes were closed. The Waif's blood still covered his clothes and hands. She should thank him. At the least, she could acknowledge the sacrifice he had just made; killing the woman who had saved and trained him instead of the ungrateful girl who never would've earned the coin he gave her.

She opened her mouth, knowing she would probably regret whatever came out, but Jaqen lifted his head and looked at her just then. He was so _angry_ with her. Angrier than he had been with The Waif. Arya closed her mouth. No, it wasn't a good idea to talk yet. She'd only set him off. She'd seen what he did with that anger and she didn't want it to be on the receiving end of it.

But he didn't wait for her to speak. Jaqen moved, cupping her face in his bloody hands as he backed her up against a wall.

"You deserve to be bloody, too," he whispered harshly when her back met stone. "This is your work."

Arya felt cornered, but couldn't stop the pleasant shiver that coursed through her when his fingers trailed down her neck. She didn't mind the blood or the anger, if she was honest. In fact, it excited her more than anything: the blood of someone he killed to protect her on his hands marking her as guilty as he was. It had been awhile since she'd seen violence that close up, and, oh gods old and new help her, she remembered how much she _liked_ it.

Later, Arya would wonder what kind of person gets turned on by those things. Later, she would worry about how depraved that was and how did it make her any better than the Mountain? Later. But not now. Now she could care less because his lips crashed against her's and he picked her up, carrying her to the bed.

When they both fell down to the mattress, the kiss became more passionate and Arya bit Jaqen's lip hard enough to taste blood. His hands went to the sash on her robe and, before she could process it, she lay naked underneath the man.

He pulled away from her lips when Arya tried to unlace his pants. The look in his eyes made her ache deep inside. He was still angry, she could tell, but she also saw the desire had turned into a need that scared her. She wanted to push pass the fear to give him the only innocence that she had left and be done with it.

But Jaqen wasn't going to let her do that just yet. He grabbed her hands and held onto them.

"This man would have you understand what just happened," he murmured. He met her eyes with more intensity than she'd ever seen before. It was enough to still her protests of stopping.

"You killed the woman who trained you," Arya whispered. "You killed her to protect me."

Jaqen shook his head and let go of her hands. He traced the outline of her neck with a finger, moving slowly along her collarbone. Arya shivered as the finger trailed even farther down her chest to her breast. He teasingly stroked her nipple. She wanted to slap him, to yell at him to just get on with it. Finally, he did.

"Yes, I did. But that's not all." Jaqen stopped and glanced up at her. She should've understood the moment he said 'I', but she was too stupid with desire to catch on. "How I wish you let Jaqen H'ghar go all those years ago. But you didn't. You held onto his name and never let a man forget it."

Was he blaming something on her? Arya didn't like the sound of it. She pushed Jaqen's hand away (reluctantly) and propped herself up on her elbows to get a better look at him. She didn't like the sadness she saw just then. The remorse.

"I've forgotten many names and many faces. All except for this one."

Arya shook her head, not wanting to hear what he was about to say because she _knew_. She finally, truly understood. And she didn't want to.

"I'm not faceless anymore. This is who I am until death now. I am Jaqen H'ghar forever and always, all because you couldn't let me go."

No. No, that couldn't be true. He was faceless. Faceless and no one. He served the Many-Faced God and that was all he did. He couldn't... No, she didn't deserve that kind of sacrifice. And she didn't deserve what she thought she saw in his eyes.

If only he hadn't said that. It was easy to give him her maidenhead when she didn't know exactly what it meant, if she didn't know he gave up everything he had and lived for just for her. She didn't deserve that.

Arya pushed him off her and wrapped the robe tightly around her body. She had wanted him. More than anything, she had wanted Jaqen H'ghar, but she hadn't expected how real and raw it would feel. She looked at him, knowing she was supposed to say something. She even opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

What made it worse was that he didn't look surprised, only sad. And angry, too. She could see it starting and that made her feel a little better. Anger she understood. Sadness, too, but she despised that emotion. She just couldn't come to grips with the other emotion. Not yet. Not after all these emotional highs and lows she'd just been through.

But, before either of them could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Arya looked out the window and saw that morning had arrived without them noticing. Jaqen began to reach for the staff that had been left behind, but she stopped him.

"The Khaleesi," she mouthed at him. "I'm supposed to go see the Khaleesi today."

Jaqen gave her an exasperated look that plainly said _Why didn't you tell me?_

She gave him a look that plainly said something very rude in reply.

"Lady Arya?" It was Missandei. "The Khaleesi requests your presence in her chambers. I'm to escort you when you're ready."

Arya flew off the bed, gathering up some of the clothes she tossed out of her chest earlier as she stammered a reply. "Uh, yeah. Sounds great. Can you, um, hold on? I just have to... I have to, uh, make water. And get dressed. In. Some. Clothes?"

"Of course. Whenever you are ready." _But it is best not to keep the Khaleesi waiting_ , the tone in Missandei's voice implied.

Arya tore her robe off and managed to get dressed quicker than she ever had before. Only when she turned around did she notice that Jaqen didn't have the common decency to turn away. He shrugged at the look she gave him, the familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. It seemed their own problems were on hold for the time being and now they had slipped into something that resembled their friendship before. Though it did feel forced. Nothing would be the same again.

She was just about to open the door when Jaqen grabbed her hand and dragged her to the bathing chamber. "I think going as you are would bring up a few questions," he murmured.

The blood. How could she have forgotten that? Arya nodded, letting him wipe her face and neck off as she washed her hands. When she was presentable, she took a moment to look in his eyes. "Will you be here when I get back?" She wanted him to be. She thought she did. Yes, she did. Maybe.

Jaqen smiled softly and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll clean up, but I think not, lovely girl. Is there any reason for me to stay? You have a place here and I do not."

Arya's heart sank. "If you're not here when I get back, I will hunt you down and kill you myself," she threatened in a low voice. She didn't wait for a response, only turned on her heel and went to Missandei. If she looked back at him, he might see her fear and she couldn't bear that just then.

* * *

The Khaleesi was standing in front of a window overlooking the city when Missandei closed the doors behind her and left the two of them alone. Arya looked around for Tyrion, expecting to find him as well, but the dwarf was nowhere to be found. She wondered if that was a good sign. At least the old knight wasn't there.

"I told Lord Tyrion to get some sleep," the Khaleesi said as if she read Arya's mind. "He's been by my side day and night since Ser Barristan fell ill. Some sort of stomach virus, they say."

Now the woman turned to her and Arya was struck by how exhausted she looked; both mentally and physically. She still looked lovely as she smiled at Arya, who couldn't help but smile back. Arya thought she'd be angry at her, but she wasn't. She had actually missed being with her.

"I'm sorry to hear that, your grace," Arya said politely, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

"Liar," the Khaleesi laughed. She came to Arya, then, and embraced her as a sister would, taking her by surprise. "And I told you to call me Dany when we're alone. I know you thought me angry with you..." She trailed off and shook her head. "I'm sorry you were left alone for so long. Matters I could not ignore kept me away."

Arya led Dany over to one of the over-stuffed chairs and sat her down. The woman was more tired than she looked. "I'm not unfamiliar with matters like those. My father would often go for days without sleeping to take care of them," Arya said, sitting down next to her. "But I suspect telling you that it's not healthy wouldn't help anything at all. So, tell me, is all well in Astapor? Or would you rather pretend for the morning that you don't have the fate of millions on your shoulders and you are just a girl talking to her friend because she can?"

Dany laughed, looking for the moment the girl she should be and not the tired monarch she was. "Would that I could, Arya," she sighed wistfully. "Would that I could. But I didn't ask you here to talk of Astapor or, sadly, to spend the morning with my friend." Dany looked at Arya, the girl left and the monarch returned. Suddenly, Arya wished that they had met under different circumstances. Even Sansa would love Dany. But if wishes were horses, only fools would ride.

"Then why did you ask me here if not to enjoy my wit?" She learned much from Tyrion, especially the art of deflecting seriousness with humor.

"Because Lord Tyrion has made a recommendation that I find wise," Dany said. It puzzled Arya that she sounded terribly saddened by the wise recommendation. "Ser Barristan won't, but I haven't spoken with him yet. I needed to speak with you."

Dany studied Arya, drawing out a long pause that only served to get on Arya's nerves. She just wish people would spit out what they meant instead of this. She had enough of that with Jaqen.

"Do you still keep your loyalty to yourself, Arya Stark?"

The question caught her off guard and made her suspicious. What in the seven hells did Tyrion suggest? "Yes," Arya answered honestly. "I bend the knee to no one. But I would never betray you. I thought you knew that."

Dany ignored the hurt look on Arya's face. "If I gave you an order, would you follow it?"

"No. I don't take orders."

"Not even if the order would help you in your vengeance?"

Arya took a deep breath. It wouldn't do to snap at the Khaleesi. Not even if they were alone. "I don't take orders. I am not a sheep. If you ask nicely, I might consider it."

Dany stood up and walked back to the window. With her straight, stiff posture, it was obvious she was annoyed with Arya as well. Finally, she spoke in a crisp tone and what she said was the last thing Arya ever expected to hear. "Your sister, Sansa Stark, is in Winterfell and she is betrothed to Roose Bolten's son and heir."

Arya stared at Dany's back, wanting it to be a sick joke. Sansa... Arya knew her sister was alive, knew she escaped King's Landing and that she had to be _somewhere_. But Winterfell? Betrothed to the son of the man that killed their mother and brother? She had to be a prisoner. She couldn't see Sweet Sansa agreeing to that willingly.

But, then, they both had changed, hadn't they? Would Sansa guess that Arya had been in Braavos all this time training to be a Faceless Man? Well... she might, to be honest. Or if she heard it, she'd most likely believe it. But she wouldn't guess that Arya was with the Mother of Dragons now, would she?

"H-how do you know that?" The shock made her voice come out as a squeak. "You can't possibly..."

"Lord Tyrion and Ser Barristan still have friends in Westeros that keep them well informed," Dany said. Her voice was softer than before, more apologetic. "The Lannister's plan to march on Winterfell when the weather permits. That will be a mistake I want to take advantage of."

Arya heard Dany's voice, but it sounded muffled. There was too much going on in her mind to listen. Sansa was home in Winterfell, a prisoner in her own childhood home. She would be the first to admit that she never liked her sister, but she couldn't leave her to that. That was the call that Nymeria heard. The call that came from the one that was lost. And it's what Bran had been trying to say.

"I'm going to Winterfell," Arya announced, standing up.

Dany looked over her shoulder at her, an amused half smile on her face. "Yes, that's what I just asked you. Weren't you listening?"

"No. Not really," Arya grinned.

"I thought not. I knew you would go. That wasn't what I was worried about earlier. We can't take Winterfell yet. We don't have enough information." Now Dany turned to Arya, her voice as regal as the day they met. She wasn't the girl she had become friends with, she was the Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons. "That is what I want to ask of you. Will you go to Winterfell and gather up all the intelligence you can? If you do, I swear to you, there will be a Stark in Winterfell again. Your sister will be rescued and it will be the first step to the Iron Throne."

Arya almost wanted to knell at the strength in those eyes, but her pride wouldn't let her. She stood straighter and met the Khaleesi's eyes. "I'm leaving tonight."

* * *

No matter how much the Khaleesi tried to talk her out of it, nothing she said dissuaded Arya from leaving that night. She didn't need to be equipped with expensive armor and weapons, she didn't need to sleep on it, and no, she didn't want to have a farewell dinner. That one had been ridiculous, especially since only Tyrion and the Khaleesi would be there, but she suspected it had been a suggestion to get her to stay one more night.

It seemed she'd always been trying to get to Winterfell ever since she left. And Arya wasn't going to waste any time now that she was so close to getting there. She knew it wouldn't be like the home she remembered, she just grew sick at the thought of Ramsey Bolton having control of it.

For eight thousand years, Winterfell belonged to the Starks and Arya was going to make damn sure it stayed the Starks. Sansa deserved it more than her. And Rickon. They needed to find Rickon. It was legally his since Bran was... She wasn't sure what he was, but he wasn't coming back to claim it, that was for sure.

Arya ran back to her rooms, ignoring the scandalized faces of the maids and guards as she rushed past them. She'd only been with the Khaleesi for an hour, surely Jaqen was still there. He had to be.

But he wasn't. Arya closed her door heavily behind her as she took in the scene. It was clean just like he promised. There was even a new rug in place of the one that they threw out. In fact, it was so clean that it looked like nothing had ever happened there. No blood, no clothes all over the place. No messed up bed where she almost gave him all of her. Nothing.

"Jaqen?." she called out, knowing there would be no answer.

And there was none. The exhilaration of going back to Winterfell evaporated completely, leaving Arya with that damned empty feeling again. She was getting tired of that. It didn't matter anyway.

Arya Stark was going home with or without Jaqen H'ghar. Nevermind the aching feeling inside as she realized it looked like it was going to have to be without.

 _Calm as still water.  
_


	9. Chapter 9

(( **AN: I am terribly sorry for the super long delay. My work _and_ personal life got hectic there for awhile. Hopefully, the fact that I'm adding not just one, but two chapters will make up for it. Thank you all so very much for the reviews and when I get more time, I'll respond to them. :) Now, here's a warning that might not be needed- There will be blood. There will be death. And there will be unpleasant things. Arya can be morally-challenged, to put it nicely. I just don't want people to be surprised and/or appalled by what's coming up. Anyway, enjoy and all that jazz. And, again, sorry for the wait. I promise that I'm not abandoning this fic. I can't. It won't let me. :D** ))

* * *

Four months. It took Arya Stark four months before she set foot on her homeland. That was nine weeks of travel on foot to Pentos and then eight weeks of travel by sea to White Harbor before she finally saw Westeros, a land she thought she saw the last of when she left for Braavos. There were quicker ways to Pentos, but she'd been cautious in her travels and stayed away from main roads. Again, her journey had been without big problems. And again, she was disappointed. She needed distractions to keep her mind from... _him_. But she had a feeling that even if there'd been problems, she'd still think of him. She'd always think of him.

In Pentos, she saw him everywhere. A flash of red hair in the crowd. A low, husky laugh from a vendor stall. Sweet murmurs to lovers overheard in darkened doorsteps. Each time Arya's heart would stop. Each time she would look for him. And each time she would be wrong. She hated herself for wanting him back so much. _He's gone, he's gone, he's gone_.

She'd received a message in Pentos, just before she left, from Tyrion. He urged her to hurry on because the information about the Lannisters marching had been wrong. Whether the informer had been caught and it was a deliberate leak or a misunderstanding was yet to be determined. The only thing that mattered to Arya was the new information. The Lannisters _were_ sending people, but it was only a small militia led by someone Tyrion had seen killed not so long ago. The Mountain. The Mountain rode for Winterfell. It made no sense to her to send just a few men against Winterfell, but she didn't care either way. She just cared that it was _The Mountain_.

Knowing that she'd have a chance to kill another name on her list was the only thing that made the ache his absence left inside of her fade away to the back of her mind. She practically leapt off the boat when it docked. The cold of oncoming winter didn't touch her as she weaved through the crowd, dodging and leaping away if anyone tried to catch a girl that seemed all alone. It wasn't as big as Braavos and Meereen, but it was crowded. She couldn't leave the town fast enough.

An ugly, mean horse was bought, supplies procured, and a special set of throwing knives caught her eye. Arya was going in dangerous territory all alone and needed all the carefully hidden weapons she could find. She wasn't going to get caught and made a mouse again.

She rode a day and night away from the town, keeping the White Knife to her right before making camp. Shelter was easy to find. The war was rampant here and burned out shells of houses weren't unusual to come across. The walls still left standing shielded them from the wind and occasional snow fall.

Arya loved the snow. She had missed it in Meereen. The hot air there stifled her and being quick in dancing was hard with sweat in your eyes. The cold here went deep to her bones as the snow fell on her and cleared her mind. When she tipped her head back and opened her mouth, it tasted of a memory of home. She laid on the ground that first night and watched it fall, trying very hard not to pretend that she was in Winterfell watching the sky with Jon, and that everything was okay, and that her father was alive, and that her mother and Robb lived, and that Bran could walk, and that they were all together again, and that _everything was okay_.

Painful nostalgia kept her up that whole night.

She decided she hated the snow. It tasted of ashes.

After that night, Arya would take out the silk blue winter rose she found in her chest in Meereen and hold on to it as she said her names and fell asleep. She wasn't much of a flower girl, but the winter rose that grew in Winterfell was the only flower that she saw true beauty in. She knew Jaqen left it for her and she wasn't sure if she wanted to treasure it or rip the fabric apart. She'd kept it close to her in the event of a final decision.

She wondered if the roses bloomed now in that glass garden. Did they cover the walls like before? Did they open slowly into that frost blue? Did they still smell pure and sweet? Did Sansa admire them like she used to?

Or were they dead just like everyone else?

She was going to rip it apart.

No, maybe she'd keep it a while longer.

* * *

The pace she set for the horse was exhausting, but she couldn't linger in one place for too long knowing that The Mountain was somewhere close by. Snow still fell, not every day, but enough to make the going hard. Her ugly, mean horse had taken to biting her every chance it got, as if angry he had to do Arya's bidding. No wonder the old man cackled when he handed her the reins.

In truth, though, she liked the spirit. The docile horse she had growing up had been useless. (A fact sorely learned when she tried to run away to join Uncle Benjen on the Wall after a fight with Sansa. She only made it to the gates.) She thought to name the beast, but didn't want to get too attached to it. She'd have to get rid of it someday soon. Besides, Ugly Mean Horse described the beast perfectly.

The days went on and so did the nights. She was getting close, so very close to Winterfell. She thought she'd be happy about that. Actually, no, she only wanted to think she'd be happy. Just to fool herself into thinking it was still home. It wasn't; it only served to remind her of all the losses that had tore her heart apart. Each step closer grew heavier and heavier. The painful nostalgia invaded even her wolf-dreams.

Despite the call of Bran and Nymeria, Arya wanted to keep riding. She wanted to bypass Winterfell and head straight for the Wall. She'd find Jon Snow and she'd never be left alone again. She imagined the two of them beyond the Wall, killing anyone who got in their way as they discovered one new adventure after another. They'd hunt together, laugh together, finish each other's sentences like they used to, and never let anyone separate them. Not ever again.

...But what if Jon Snow was dead like everyone else? She didn't want to know, didn't want to lose hope, but she couldn't ignore the large part of her that told her he was most likely dead.

Death was death and no one escaped it. That was the only thing Arya found that she could be sure of.

So, she rode and she rode and when she saw anyone, she stayed out of sight. The snow and war had driven most people into hiding, the only ones out had to be desperate or eager to take advantage of lone riders. She wondered who everyone else was hiding from; the North or the South? She wondered if it mattered. The people suffered no matter who they were loyal to. War was a game and all the smallfolk were discardable pieces. The Khaleesi would treat them better. She hoped the Khaleesi would treat them better. If not her, then who?

It didn't matter. It didn't matter because the game was still going and once she helped her pack, she was gone. Arya didn't care what the Khaleesi did when she sat on her precious Iron Throne. The Seven Kingdoms could rot in the seven hells for all she cared.

The great Eddard Stark would be ashamed of who she had become. Ser Barristan Selmy had the right of it that day even though she didn't want him to be. Being in the North again so close to Winterfell made her see the truth of it. In the dark of the night, the thought of her father would come to her, haunting her with his face and those eyes so full of disappointment.

That was when she missed Jaqen the most, when she longed for him. Jaqen never made her feel like a monster, even though she knew she was. With just one look, he made her feel whole and right. How could she be a source of shame and disappointment when someone looked at her like that?

* * *

She'd been 12 days traveling when she came across the inn. That was a surprise. The road Arya had been walking was more of a trail than anything. She'd seen a few farmhouses scattered around the area, but the people were wary and stayed out of sight. She couldn't see a use for an inn so out of the way like this, but there it was, showing signs of life. Smoke came out of a chimney, she heard the whinny of a horse from what looked like stables.

Arya wanted to pass it by. The Brotherhood without Banners used inns out of the way like this as places of refuge. She didn't want to deal with them alone. They may preach about acting for the smallfolk, but they were just as bad as the rest. They'd do anything for a bit a gold and a horse. Poor Gendry found that out the hard way and she couldn't help him. Just the thought of the bastards now made her angry.

But the inn couldn't be avoided. Supplies were running low and the horse deserved a night in a stable, even if he had bit her shoulder earlier. With a heavy sigh, Arya headed toward the inn and tied the beast to a hitching post before entering.

It was warm, blissfully so, but that's all it was. Obviously, the owner had fallen on hard times. The floor was filthy and dark stains told ominous stories. The tables were splintered and cracked while only two of the chairs looked safe enough to sit in and one was occupied by a drunk sleeping off his wine facedown on the table. Arya grimaced. She didn't want to know what was on the surface of any of the tables. It was warm. That was all that mattered.

The innkeeper sat at the counter, an unused rag in one hand and a cup of wine in the other, and looked up at her, ecstatic at the thought of another paying customer, but he looked disappointed when he saw only a girl. Traveling as a boy was out of the question now that she had an obvious chest. She tried to hide them in the heavy fur-lined cloak and thick clothes to no avail.

Arya thought to take offense to that, but let it slide. She still loved it when people underestimated her. Most saw Needle and its twin as just a decoration in their scabbards. One man in Pentos found that that was not the case. His body was found in the street the next morning. She'd been in a hurry.

"What d'ya want?" the innkeeper wheezed, sneering to show his rotted teeth. Arya stopped herself from showing any disgust.

"A room for the night and a stable for my horse," she replied. She took her money bag out of her belt pocket, making sure the man saw the two swords in case he got any ideas about a girl all alone in the world. "I can pay. My horse needs tending to if you have a stable boy."

The innkeeper eyed her, then her swords, and then her money bag before nodding. "Got both for good coin. And the stable boy. I don't want any trouble, now, hear? Got me a sellsword as 'cause of the brigands runnin' round." He gestured to the man passed out in the corner before yelling over his shoulder for the 'stupid boy' to earn his keep. She heard a door in the back open and close.

Arya looked over at the man. "Looks terrifying. I can see why you don't get much trouble here."

The innkeeper smirked when Arya looked back at him. "Yeah, that bloody bastard's useless. Came limpin' in one night and never left. Only good for drinkin' my wine and pissin' hisself. Brought with him a damn mean horse. That one guards the barn, won't let anyone near it. Not even us most the time."

Arya smirked as she took the coins out of her bag and glanced over at the drunk again. He shifted in his sleep, his hair parting to reveal a ruined face. She stopped, unable to believe her eyes. The face, that scar. What are the odds?

The innkeeper noticed the change in Arya and narrowed his eyes at her, guessing she knew exactly who that was. "Don't ya go gettin' ideas, bitch," he hissed, trying to sound threatening. Arya wanted to laugh in his face, but acted afraid like a little mouse. "Ya forget ya saw 'im. Once the road's clear, I'm takin' 'im to Kings Landing for the 'ward."

Complications. Of course it had to happen in a warm place she was most likely going to have to flee from, but she left the man before and regretted it. He was here and she was here, that had to mean something. Or it didn't. The fact that he showed back up in her life now just stunk of Bran playing a game with her. Bran or the gods. Either way, she didn't care. She wasn't going to play along.

Arya put her purse back. The Hound wasn't her problem and she wasn't his. He lived from his wounds obviously so she had nothing to feel bad about anymore. "You know, I think I'll keep on," she said, forcing a laid-back smile. "It's not so bad out there." She turned to leave, but the innkeeper grabbed her arm. _Seven hells_. A rush of adrenaline ran through her at the promise of a fight. Now she was looking forward to the complication.

"No, don't think so, girlie," he growled, twisting her arm painfully. "Ya jus' make yourself at home, hear? What kind a man would I be if I let ya wander out on a night like this? I'm bettin' those knives ya got ain't nothin' but a fib." Now he leered at her and leaned in close. The smell of stale alcohol and sweat that rolled off him made Arya sick, but she held her ground, acting the mouse and waiting for the right moment. She wanted to strike when he thought he was safe. The look of shock on his face would be priceless.

"Please, sir," she whispered, trying very, very hard not to laugh. She imagined Jaqen by her side, his eyes dancing with amusement as he scolded her for playing with the poor man. ( _But he's not here_.) Right. "I don't want trouble."

"An' ya won't have it if you play nice, girlie," the innkeeper grinned. The drunk stirred in his sleep, and for a moment, Arya thought he would wake, but then he stilled and let out a loud snore. "Ya know, I gotta nice bed myself. Need a wench to keep it warm. You and those tits could do me good."

He grabbed one of her breasts and Arya acted without thinking. She'd been in situations like this before and each time ended with another body she had to dispose of. She hated it. She hated the thought of anyone thinking they could touch her and get away with it. She only wanted the memory of one man's hands on her and it wasn't this disgusting pig.

With a flick of her wrist, a dagger appeared in her hand from the sheath she kept hidden and it found its way to underneath the man's chin. She thrust the blade all the way up to the hilt. When he let go of her arm, another blade appeared, That one went into his heart. It was messy and bloody and not at all what she intended to do when she tried to leave. But to be touched like that without permission made Arya blind with a rage she couldn't control.

"You shouldn't've done that," she whispered, not even sickened in the slightest at the pleasure she found in the horror in the innkeeper's eyes. He tried to talk, but only blood fell from his lips. He died. "I only wanted to leave. Very stupid of you not to let me. That will be the last mistake you'll make."

As soon as she let the corpse fall to the ground, the stable boy walked in. He looked to be about thirteen years old, but he was so thin and sickly looking, he could've been older. Arya raised her bloody daggers and pointed them at the boy. "Is there anyone else here?" she asked quietly.

The boy shook his head, his eyes glued to the dead man on the floor. At first, Arya thought the look on his face was fear, but now she saw that it wasn't that at all. Judging by the smile that grew on his lips, he was actually happy. She understood when she realized the dark circles under his eyes were actually bruises.

"Then we won't have a problem, will we?" Arya raised her eyebrow at the boy as she wiped her blades clean on the inside of her cloak.

"N-no," he stuttered, still staring at the body. "Does this... Does this mean he's not the innkeeper anymore?"

Arya gave him a blank stare. For a moment, she was struck by a memory of Hot Pie, that idiot boy she grew fond of. She laughed as she grabbed the ex-innkeeper's arms and dragged him to the back room. The boy helped her open the back door and dumped the corpse in the snow.

"Yes, that means he isn't the innkeeper anymore," she said, brushing off her hands and giving him a small smile. "That makes you the innkeeper now."

"My own inn?" The boy's eyes were wide open with wonder. It looked like his dreams had come true. He dashed to one of the barrels that were already tapped and grabbed a mug, filling it to the brim before dashing back to Arya. "Here. On the house! I get to say that now, don't I? Wow. My own inn... I'm Clayton, by the way. And I can't thank you enough."

Arya couldn't help but grin as she took the mug and glanced at it. It looked to be wine. "Hello, Clayton, I'm..." She hesitated. Even though she'd only just recently claimed her name again, she was going to have to use another. "Nymeria. And I don't want thanks. I just don't like old bullies." She took a drink of the wine and nearly spat it out.

"Oh! That's the strong one," Clayton said in dismay. "I'm only suppose to give that one to the guy in the common room. Ol' Ben, the one you just killed, said to make sure he kept drinking it. Don't know why, but I did after he hit me. Said once the roads clear we can get gold for bringing him in. Just keep him drunk, he said, and I did. Do you want something else?"

Arya handed the cup back to Clayton and shook her head, going back into the common room to see the drunken mess the Hound had become. _Pathetic_ , she thought to herself as she looked down at him. His armor was gone. That's why she didn't give him a second glance before. Now he just dressed like a farmer down on his luck. She wrinkled her nose at the smell that came off of him. A bath was sorely needed. She couldn't believe how far he'd fallen, to be caught like this in a piss-poor trap, oblivious of the danger he'd been in. She wondered if this was what she'd be like if she indulged in her self-pity.

And it was that thought that made her change her mind about leaving the poor bastard behind.

"Can I get a pitcher of cold water?" Arya called out to Clayton. He was only happy to help and he brought her the pitcher with a huge smile. "Thanks. You might want to step back. This isn't going to be pleasant. And I promise to pay for whatever damage occurs."

Clayton gave her a puzzled look as she poured the contents of the pitcher on the Hound's head. He ran back to the kitchen as the Hound jumped up with a roar, yelling utter nonsense. Something about birds and dogs. His soaked hair streamed over his eyes and he lashed out blindly at her.

"Oi! Hold on," Arya yelled, nimbly dodging every wild strike. "Calm down, it's all right!" He still raged at her. Damn. She was going to have to do this the hard way. _Quick as a snake_. She leapt and struck a spot on his neck that knocked him out again. A move Jaqen taught her by first-hand experience more than once in the early days when she acted up.

The Hound crumbled heavily to the ground and Clayton's head popped up from behind the counter, his eyes wide with fear. "Did you kill him?"

"No, but he'll wish I did when he wakes up," she sighed, grabbing the Hound by the arms and dragging him to the stairs. She hadn't done this much body dragging in awhile. "Give me a hand?"

Clayton shook his head, still frightened. Arya rolled her eyes. "Fine, what room is he in?"

"First on the right," he pointed, then looked at the table the Hound had overturned. "You're gonna pay for that, right?"

"Yeah," Arya grunted as she started to pull him up the steps. "Just." Grunt. "Give." Grunt. "Me." Another grunt followed by a muffled curse as the Hound's head hit the edge of a stair. "A minute."

Bugger all, he was heavy. She grunted again and pulled with all her might, only managing to get him up one more step before quitting. He'd just have to sleep off his wine right there. Arya took her cloak off and sat down a couple steps above him, drawing both of her swords.

The Hound wasn't going to be in the best of moods when he woke up.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise when the Hound began to stir. That sent Clayton running back to the kitchen, terrified. Arya was glad to see him go. He kept her awake most of to make sure she was going to pay him. She'd tossed him a few coins, but he wanted more. If the Hound slept any longer, he'd wake up to just Arya and two dead bodies. She remembered all the times she had to bite her tongue with Hot Pie and wondered how she hadn't killed the boy in the time they'd been together.

The Hound groaned and lifted a hand to his head, gingerly feeling the bump on his head from the stair edge. Arya had to hold back her laughter at the utterly confused expression on his face. He hadn't noticed her yet.

"Bloody hell," he growled, trying to sit up. He only managed to slide down a step. "What... fuck?" He looked around, his brow furrowing even more. "Fuck is this shit?" He grabbed the railing to pull himself up, but it was as rotten as everything else and splintered as soon as he put his weight on it. He stared dumbly at the broken piece in his hand.

Arya heard Clayton running to see what the sound was. His head popped around the corner. "Are you going to pay for that, too?" he asked her, fear forgotten at the thought of damage to his new inn.

The Hound looked at Clayton. "Fuck you talking about? No, I'm not going to fucking pay for that. Fuck off," he snarled. Clayton ran, remembering the fear again.

"I forgot how pleasant you can be in the mornings," Arya smirked, leaning back with a tight grip on the swords.

The Hound swiveled toward her and stared with no sign of recognition. Arya let him look as long as needed. She knew she didn't look the same as she did when she left him. His brow furrowed for a long moment and then it came to him.

"You," he growled, pointing the broken railing at her. "Fuck you doing here? Fuck off, I need a drink. Wine!" He raised his voice to the kitchen.

Clayton came running with the wine, but stopped at the foot of the stairs when Arya shook her head at him.

"No, not the strong wine. Water it down first. In fact, just add a couple drops of wine to a pitcher of water. I don't want to deal with him going through withdrawal on the road."

"Shut your mouth," the Hound snapped at her. "Give me the wine, now." Clayton took a step forward, but stopped again, this time his eyes were wide with even more fear. "Don't just stand there, boy, give it!"

Arya tsked at the Hound. He turned and found himself face to face with the point of Needle.

"What in seven hells is wrong with you?!" he roared at her. "You won't kill me when I'm dying, but you'll kill me just for drinking wine?"

"You should be thanking me," Arya sang, tapping the point of her blade against his shoulder. "I just saved your ungrateful ass from a trip to King's Landing. Ask the boy." She gestured to Clayton, who nodded so enthusiastically that he spilled most of the wine on the floor. The Hound made a pained face as he watched it hit the floor.

"'S true. Ol' Ben, the one she just killed, he told me to give you the strong stuff and keep you drunk so you wouldn't leave. He said you'd make him rich when the roads cleared. I ask why, but he hit me so I gave you the strong stuff and you kept drinking it." He shrugged. "So I kept giving it to you."

The Hound stared at the boy and shook his head. "No," he growled, putting his head in his hands. "No, this is too early. Get me a fucking drink."

Arya took pity on the man and nodded to Clayton. "Fine, but _water it down_." The boy nodded and ran back to the kitchen. She watched him leave before looking back to the Hound. So this is what the feared man had become. She believed in him once, had even taken him off the list. She thought there was a safe place at his side, that no one could touch them. She'd been so angry at him when she found out she was wrong. She wondered if she should apologize, then thought better of it. He never apologized to anyone, so she couldn't see him accepting it. He'd only scorn her.

Making him come along with her, though, that could be her apology. Arya knew how much he hated his brother. What better way to say 'I'm sorry for not killing you' than to help him kill The Mountain?

"You should get your things together. We'll leave after we get something to eat," Arya said, her tone leaving no room for argument. (As if he'd let that slide.) "We'll have to wean you off the wine, but I think you'll be good once-"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" the Hound interrupted, his head shooting up to glare at her. "What makes you think I'd go anywhere with you? I'm fine where I'm at." Arya laughed, but he went on. "You left me to die. You think I'll just forget that? Get the fuck out of my sight and leave me be."

"Nope. Can't do that."

Clayton came up with the watered down wine and the Hound grabbed it, emptied it, and demanded more. Arya nodded when the boy shot her a questioning look.

"Fuck off, I said leave me be."

"No, I won't," she sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Aren't you going to ask where we're going? You'll change your mind, I'm sure."

"How many times do I have to say fuck off?" He stood up on shaky legs and limped down the stairs, only giving the blood puddle from Ol' Ben a glance before stepping over it and sitting down heavily in the chair he'd been in before. Arya followed, but stopped at the foot of the steps and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.

Clayton gave him another mug full of watered down wine, but when he asked for more, Arya shook her head. "For fuck's sake! Fine, where do you think you're gonna drag me off to?"

Arya grinned at the Hound. "I'm going back to Winterfell to save Sansa, and then I'm going to kill Roose Bolton and your brother."

The Hound had a good long laugh at that.

* * *

When the Hound finally calmed down enough to breathe, Arya let him have another drink. He kept laughing to himself as he gulped it down. Finally, his head stopped hurting enough for him to hold a conversation. "You've got nerve. I'll give you that, girl," he said somewhat amicably. "But I still ain't going with you. Not after you left me penniless and dying. Should've killed me then."

Arya rolled her eyes. He wasn't going to get over that, was he? After three years, she thought he'd find some peace with it. "Listen, dog," she began as she sat down on the bottom step. She took a knife out to clean the dried blood from underneath her fingernails."There's things-"

"Don't call me 'dog'," he interrupted in a steely voice. Arya glanced up and saw that he was serious. She put the knife down. "Or the 'Hound'. That man died a long time ago." He looked down at the wine-flavored water with a grimace. "I'm no good to anyone anymore."

"Not if you talk like that," she shrugged, going back to her fingernails. "You're just annoying when you talk like that. What do I call you then?"

He glared at her a long time before he answered. "Sandor. That's all I am anymore." Sandor emptied his cup and slammed it on the table that Clayton picked back up, falling into a long tense silence. Arya finally broke it when she was done with her fingernails.

"Fine, I'll bite, _Sandor_. What happened? I could've sworn you were dying when I left you."

"Me, too," he grunted, rubbing his leg as if it ached. It'd been so bashed up before that she was surprised he could still walk. "There was a septon that came along that night. The Elder Brother, himself. Middle of no where, what were the odds of that?" He laughed bitterly and shook his head, staring off into the distance. "I wanted the bastard to kill me, but he wouldn't. He just fixed me up as best he could and sat with me that whole night. I begged for death. Me. Begging for death. I just wanted it to end. Especially when he started to pray for me. Out loud. Then I wanted to kill him to shut him up. But I couldn't."

Arya shifted uncomfortably as Sandor fell into silence. She didn't want to hear the story, not really. It made the reality of what she did all too real. When it came to killing, that was the one she regretted most. She wanted to close her ears when he began again, but forced herself to listen.

"Three fucking days of that. Can you imagine three fucking days of listening to a septon pray for your sins as you're dying?" Sandor smirked when Arya shuddered. "On the fourth day I gave up and he told me a story. I didn't wanna fucking hear no story, but I didn't have a choice." She could relate to that. "He said he was like me. Loved to kill and he was good at it. Like me. But then something made him put away the sword and he found his way to the 'Cobbler Above'. Whether I liked it or not, he took me with him to the Quiet Isle. Fuck, get me a drink, boy."

"Same as before," Arya told Clayton and was utterly shocked when Sandor agreed with her. She took it as a good sign. Or maybe he remembered how stubborn she could be.

"Wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," he continued after downing another cup. "My leg healed, I got better, and I stopped drinking. Stopped killing. Know what I did? I dug graves and I liked the work. Two years of it. I didn't think about spilling blood, whores, or drink for two damned years. Then I left to get some supplies, and when I came back, somebody had took a torch to the damned place and put the poor bastards to the sword. Every single one of them except for Stranger. Fucking horse took a lot of them down. So, I left. And I came here, I guess. I don't remember much of those days. I had a lot to drink. Too much."

Silence fell again and Arya wished for a drink. Beer, not wine. She needed it after seeing the look in Sandor's eyes. He was devastated by that loss. And she knew that feeling well. She looked down at her blood stained hands and felt ashamed by the thought of leaving him long ago. But there was nothing to say to that. Nothing to say to anything. So she stayed silent and wondered if she could ever clean her hands. Wondered if she'd ever want to like Sandor did.

She didn't think so. She actually liked the look of blood on her hands. She liked the look of horror in Ol' Ben's eyes as she stabbed him in the heart. She liked the way the blood felt when it ran over her hands. She once thought of Sandor, the Hound, as the monster.

Who was the monster now? She was. And she didn't care. That was what bothered her and only a little bit at that.

She glanced up at Sandor and saw that he was staring at her, at her hands. It was a long considering look, but she could see him coming to a decision and kept quiet. Finally, he shook his head and laughed bitterly.

"Does it look like I'd be useful to anyone?" Sandor sneered. "I can barely walk with this gimp leg. I haven't picked up a sword in almost three years and I don't even care. Fuck off, wolf-girl. I'm done with killing." He banged his cup on the table for even more wine. "And none of that watered-down shit. The wolf-girl's leaving now."

Arya eyed him with disgust. She should've known he'd turn craven. She was practically giving him his brother's head on a plate and he refused it? All because he didn't like to kill anymore? The disappointment ran deep to her bones. She'd hoped to talk him into being her second pair of eyes in Winterfell, but now the sun was rising and she was just wasting time. Arya stood up, giving Sandor a look of utter disgust.

"Sansa's most likely married to Roose Bolton's son and heir by now," she said coldly, looking into his eyes. "You know how the Boltons like to celebrate their weddings. We've both seen that first hand."

Sandor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Then the little bird is most likely dead by now." His hands shook at the thought.

But Arya didn't see that. She was already gone. The only thing she left behind was her money bag. It wasn't like she'd be needing it where she was going anyway.

"Is this my money?" Clayton asked eagerly as he picked it up.

"Fuck off," Sandor growled automatically. "Just fucking fuck off."

* * *

Now that Ugly Mean Horse was rested, Arya rode hard and fast to the Wolfswood, realizing that the main reason she wanted Sandor to go with her was so she wouldn't be alone anymore. That realization led her to another stop just before she'd go to Winterfell. She'd been looking forward to doing this for a long time. Oddly enough, it hadn't snowed here as much as it did around White Harbor. The forest floor was relatively clear. There was no discernible trail to follow, but she didn't need one. She knew exactly where she was going. She just had to trust herself.

The wolves were everywhere, silently watching her. All of the ones she could see, all silently watching her. It made the horse skittish, so she slid down and took the lead. Her breath caught in her throat when she noticed the vast number of wolves around her. The Wolfswood went on for miles, and she knew, somehow, that all throughout it, were many more wolves. All angry. All hungry. And all Nymeria's.

 _Here_ she was invincible. _Here_ she was unstoppable. _Here_ she would never be alone.

They were close, so very close. How big had she grown? Did she still hate Arya for chasing her away? Wolf-dreams were one thing, but reality? She didn't care. She needed to see her.

The den loomed ahead and Arya stopped to prepare herself. She took deep breaths, but it didn't work. She was still scared and excited and overwhelmed and- _There she was_. A massive gray wolf stepped out of the den, its golden eyes on Arya. She took one step forward just as Arya did, then they both broke into a run toward each other.

Nymeria knocked Arya to the ground and stood over her, tail wagging violently as she licked Arya's face clean; first the dirt and then the tears that wouldn't stop. For once in her life, Arya had arrived to find a member of her family alive. _Alive_.

When the direwolf let her up, Arya was able to see how big she was. And big didn't even begin to cover it. Nymeria's head came up to Arya's shoulder and her body was lean and dangerous looking. She was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She checked the wound that had almost killed her. Only a slight discoloration that barely showed was the only evidence she'd been in danger.

A girl stepped out of the den, but a huge figure accidentally shoved her aside in his excitement. "Hodor," grinned Hodor. He stopped a few feet in front of her, suddenly bashful as he kept his eyes down with that smile on his face. "Hodor."

Arya took his hands in her's and squeezed them comfortingly. "Yes, Hodor. It's so good to see you again..." She stopped, knowing she'd only embarrass herself if she kept talking. The girl came up, studying Arya with careful attention to detail before she smiled. An awkward smile, but Arya wasn't any good at those either so forgave her. "You saved her, didn't you? I can't... Thank you."

"I don't need thanks. I wanted to," the girl said, patting Nymeria's head. "I'm Meera Reed. And you're Arya Stark. Bran's told me a lot about you. Let's get inside, there's a cold wind coming in. And we have much to talk about." She turned back to the den, but stopped and nodded to the horse. "He's safe here. The wolves won't attack anything or anyone that's with you."

Meera wouldn't talk until Arya sat down in front of the fire pit and ate the bowl of hot stew she'd made earlier. That was fine with her. Questions could always wait if there was food involved for her. She was starving. The bowl was halfway gone when Meera settled down to Arya's left. Nymeria claimed the right side and laid her head in Arya's lap, eyes half-closed as she was being absentmindedly petted.

"What's happening to Bran?" she asked when she was finished. _Now_ she needed answers to her questions.

Meera looked at Arya, her face solemn. "He's a greenseer. The last of them."

Arya didn't know how to react to that. She knew something was happening to Bran, but that? "It's the tree, isn't it? It's growing into him." A vague memory of a dream came back to her. Bran wrapped in tree roots that grew around and into him.

"He's a part of the weirwoods now. He sees everything." Meera glanced at Hodor, who sat happily across from them. "Sometimes he can see the future. That's why you're here now. He saw the possibilities and made them happen." Arya thought Meera didn't sound too thrilled about it. There was an old sadness about her. "It hurts him. Doing all that work. That's why he hasn't been talking to you. To me, either."

"Hodor."

"Yes, Hodor, too." Meera cracked a small smile at the man.

Arya closed her eyes. It was too much for her. She had wanted so badly to see Bran, to touch and feel, just to know for sure that he was still alive. "Where is he?"

"Beyond the Wall," came the quiet reply. "He sent us here when he saw Nymeria and heard your pleas. He's safe where he is. A great weirwood cradles him in the darkness."

Summer crept into the den, softly and slowly. For a moment, Arya felt Bran when she looked into her brother's direwolf's eyes, but then he was gone. She held a hand out to Summer, who nosed it and gave her a lick before laying next to Nymeria.

Old Nan tales. Arya thought of Nymeria's dreams, the ones she'd only seen twice. She wondered if they were really just dreams or something else entirely. This was too much for her. She shouldn't be here. She should be in Braavos, completely oblivious. She wanted to be back in the House, back in her rooms, and back to wondering what it was she saw in Jaqen's eyes.

"He's in the dark?" Arya found that thought more distressing than anything else. It reminded her of their father. No one should be in the dark, all alone. A tear fell. Just one. That's all that would come. Her brothers and sister had been separated, scattered across distances too far to imagine. She wanted them back. Her pack. But she only had a distressingly vague connection to them. And all she could do was cry one tear and accept it.

She was struck with a certainty that this wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to be together in Winterfell when true winter came, not like this. Meera hesitatingly reached out to Arya, but when she touched her, Arya snatched her hand away and glared at her. She'd shown enough weakness to last a lifetime these past few months. If she let go now, she'd succumb to fear.

 _Fear cuts deeper than swords_.

Arya woke Nymeria up and stood. She didn't care about what should've been. She didn't care about the Hound or Sandor. She didn't care about the things she couldn't change, the past or the future. Let Bran worry himself about that. Arya only needed to focus on one thing and that was getting into Winterfell. Everything else would be taken care of as it came along. She survived this long by living like that. She'd keep on surviving as long as she continued to do so.

"There's more," Meera said as Arya emptied out her saddle bags.

"If it's not going to help me in Winterfell, then I don't care," she snapped, getting out what she needed. A plain, brown homespun dress she stole in White Harbor. The special set of throwing knives she forked out good money for. Every night when she made camp, she'd painstakingly sewn hiding spots into the dress for the flat blades. In the sleeves, in the bodice, and in the skirt. She wasn't going to be a mouse here.

"Bran told me to tell you that when this-" Meera tried again, getting angry.

"Will it help me in Winterfell?" Arya interrupted again. She'd thought about cutting her hair, but since she couldn't pass off as a boy anymore, that would just invite questions and attention to her. She wanted to blend in to the background, so she decided to keep it long and tied back. The faces she'd worn before and carried inside of her were gone now that she had reclaimed her name, but she'd been through so much and acquired so many scars that it didn't matter. No one would recognize feisty Arya Underfoot from a meek kitchen girl.

"Listen to me," Meera snapped, grabbing Arya's arm and breaking her concentration.

When Arya lifted her eyes to the girl, Nymeria sensed Arya's irritation and crouched down, growling at Meera. Arya cocked her head, her eyes frightfully cold as she met Meera's eyes. "Don't touch me," she said softly.

She almost let Nymeria attack. She almost let go of her tentative control on the direwolf's wildness. But Hodor moaned in fear, rocking back and forth muttering 'Hodor' over and over. That was the only thing that brought Arya back to her senses. She looked away from Meera and closed her eyes to steady her anger, Nymeria calming down as she did.

The power she felt just then when her direwolf was so close and connected was immense. She could've killed Meera with just one lunge. To anyone else, it would've been a terrifying thought, but to Arya, it was beautiful. She was a wolf. A direwolf. Nothing could scare her now. Not even being in Winterfell alone and surrounded by enemies.

She opened her eyes. Meera looked at her with wide, angry eyes. Only a little bit of fear showed. She could respect that.

"What did Bran say?" she asked as if nothing happened.

Meera stared at her a little longer before answering. "When you're done here, you need to go to the Wall. You're needed. You can't stay with the Mother of Dragons."

"Why?" Arya scoffed. She didn't like being told what to do in terms like that, as if she didn't have a choice. When she was done in Winterfell, she was done being a pawn for Bran to move around. She wasn't going to play any longer.

"I don't know," Meera said, looking back to the fire. Her voice grew distant. "I only know what I've seen beyond the Wall. White Walkers. The dead walking. My brother was killed by one of them. They're coming. When winter truly comes, Arya Stark, I don't think wars and thrones are going to matter."

More Old Nan tales. The dream came back to her and she looked at Nymeria, who met her eyes. There was much she didn't know or understand. Bran's power. Her own power. The connection she shared with Nymeria. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to understand. The only thing that mattered was the list. She _needed_ to clear the list. _Then_ she'd go to the Wall. Maybe. If she felt like it.

Arya didn't know. She was wasting more time.

She shook her head and went back to her things, checking over all she gathered for Winterfell. The swords would have to stay. There was no way to sneak them in... And the horse. She couldn't explain how a peasant came to own one as decent as Ugly Mean Horse.

"Are you listening?" Meera snapped at her.

"No," she answered honestly. "I have things to do. If you talk to Bran, tell him I'm doing what he wanted. But that's all. After that, I'm doing what I want."

Meera opened her mouth to argue, but she saw the look in Arya's eyes and knew it was hopeless. In the end, they'll find out who has the right of it.

* * *

Later, after she changed into the dress and made sure her hair was covered with a scarf, after she said goodbye to the sad Hodor and angry Meera, she walked through the woods on foot, Nymeria and Summer escorting her. She'd be close enough to Winterfell to slip into a cat by daybreak. Then she'd find the best way in. Just like Meereen.

When she rested, the direwolves would scout ahead into the thinning forest. Through Nymeria, Arya could smell how close Winterfell was. Men and horses smelled even closer. There was a patrol just over the hills. Nymeria could see them in the distance. They looked familiar, smelled familiar to Arya.

It reminded her of Harrenhal. The sellsword company that worked for the Lannisters. That Jaqen H'ghar worked for. _Quiet as a shadow_ , Arya told Nymeria needlessly. They weren't even looking in her direction.

Arya wasn't sure if that changed things. She wondered if they were with The Mountain, but they smelled of Winterfell. Their loyalty could be bought, so maybe the Boltons employed them. She couldn't be sure and she couldn't wait to find out. She was wasting time.

Arya pressed on quick as a snake, but quiet as a shadow. Daylight was beginning to dance on the horizon and the trees grew thin. Now was the time to say goodbyes again. Summer was easy, a quick lick and a wag of the tail and the direwolf retreated. But Nymeria...

She wrapped her arms around Nymeria, burying her face in the soft gray fur. Both of them hated to part, but they knew it was only a matter of time before they saw each other again. Arya had to believe that. She had to.

 _Soon_ , she whispered to the direwolf. _Soon you will feast_.

And then she was gone.

Arya turned away from the trees, grateful for her dry eyes and walked on. She crested a hill and there. There it was. Finally, there it was.

 _Winterfell_.


	10. Chapter 10

(( **AN: Smut happens. Well. Not really smut since I had to tone it down, but it's still there. I'm at work on the next chapter and oh, hell, that's going to be a long one. But, the wait won't be as long as last time. I promise you that, my dears. Anyway, hope you enjoy! And, again, I do appreciate reviews so very much! No pressure, though. :D** ))

* * *

It was nightfall when Arya arrived at the ruins of winter town just outside of Winterfell. Another orange tomcat had been helpful again. He showed her refugees squatting in some of the few houses that remained. Mostly, the Boltons ignored them, but every morning they would open the main gate to look for workers. Cooks, seamstresses, blacksmiths, serving girls. Anyone they needed, they took. Arya was going to be someone they needed, no matter what.

As she walked through the town, she tried not to look at the devastation. It didn't mean anything to her, she told herself. Not that it was a real town to begin with. Most of the houses had stood empty for as long as she could remember. There'd been a few vagabonds here and there and her father let them stay until they moved on again, but it was meant to be a refuge for the smallfolk when the true winters arrived. Jory had told her that it was a sight to see; all the market stalls open for business and the crowd that bustled through the streets during the day while the night brought music, dancing, and laughter that you could hear as far as the Great Hall.

There'd be no more laughter in this town anymore. She wondered if there was laughter in Winterfell. She wondered if Sansa still laughed. She used to hate that laugh. Now Arya wanted to hear it at least once more.

Arya heard the refugees before she saw them. It wasn't laughter. It was wailing. A loud, uncontrollable cry of grief. She stopped, not wanting to go on. She knew that sound; she'd felt it, too, but never had she been able to give it voice. She tried once. When she was with Yoren and the others. She tried so hard to scream and shout, but she'd been too afraid to let it out. She internalized that wail and it hardened inside of her. She wondered if it would ever break free.

Feeling something in her hand, Arya glanced down and saw the silk blue winter rose. She didn't even remember getting it out. She held onto it tightly and walked on, gathering whatever comfort from the rose she could hold on to. She needed it as she approached one of the houses that hadn't burned and opened the door.

Only a handful of people turned to look at her with empty eyes. The rest laid on the floor, some sleeping, some awake, and some dead. A lot dead from starvation. Arya closed the door quickly and went to the house next to it. It wasn't any better off. There were more dead and they'd been there a long time. Arya stepped back, fighting the urge to throw up. She'd seen worse, but not for a long time and not since she left Westeros. It was only here that she found this kind of horror.

Arya took her waterskin out of her bag and swallowed the last of it down. From the look of things, there weren't that many refugees that could work. They'd take her inside the walls to work. She walked over to the last house standing and took a deep breath before opening the door. This was better, there was space on the floor and no dead that she could see. The ones who were awake looked at her with life in their eyes instead of that horrid emptiness from the first house. One girl even tentatively smiled at her. Arya didn't smile back. Because this was the house the wailing was coming from. A woman sobbed in the corner, rocking back and forth uttering nonsense in between the wails.

That sound... No, Arya couldn't stay here. She couldn't stay anywhere near that noise. She quickly shut the door and stumbled back, her hands shaking. She could sleep on the ground with her cloak. It'd be worth the cold as long as she couldn't hear the woman.

The door opened and shut behind Arya. It was the girl that smiled. Arya glanced at her over her shoulder, discretely palming one of her knives. The girl wasn't smiling anymore. She looked as sick as Arya felt.

"It was her son," the girl explained softly. "He-"

"I don't want to know," Arya interrupted, holding a hand up. "I just want to find a place to sleep before morning."

The girl looked away from her. "I didn't want to know either. But she told me anyway. Over and over she told me anyway." She pursed her lips and shook her head. Arya noticed she wasn't smiling, she was trying not to cry.

She didn't have the patience for the girl at the moment. She never had the patience for anyone, though. Arya just turned away from her, continuing her quest for a place to sleep.

"I know a place," the girl called out. "I just didn't want to stay there alone. If you want, I could show you. We could stay there, if you want."

"No, I'd rather be alone."

"Please?"

Oddly enough, the plaintive tone stopped Arya. "Fine. Show me, then."

The girl smiled and led her to a house right by the main gate. It wasn't completely demolished, just the first floor stood intact. She chattered the whole way there, making Arya regret ever saying yes.

"It's been awhile since I've talked to someone my age, I'm sorry if I go on. I just got here earlier and the only one who's talked to me is the woman who can't stop crying. I thought I was going to end up like her until you arrived. I'm Landa, by the way. What's your name?"

She didn't have to think one up on the spot. It came to her after she opened the door of the second house. "Mercy," she replied with a small smile to herself. "Mercy Snow." She thought of Jon.

Thankfully, Landa shut up when they opened the door to a relatively clean room. Maybe she didn't like bastards. Good, now she could get some sleep.

"My name's Snow, too," Landa whispered when they were settled down on the floor.

 _Seven hells_.

"Never knew my dad," she continued, growing tearful. Arya tuned her out. "Never wanted to. My mother was good enough for me, even if she was a whore. She sent me out one day to get some things from my aunt. I stayed the night and the whole way back I smelled smoke. It got stronger as I got closer... and I knew, you know? I just knew."

Arya still tuned her out. She had enough tragedies of her own. She didn't need anyone else's.

"Then I saw them. Everyone was dead. _Everyone_ in the whole town was dead and the bodies were in this big pile. All of them. These men... The ones who killed everyone, they didn't look like men. I couldn't really see them, but there was something... They were chopping up the bodies and taking them into the inn. I heard awful screams from inside. I saw my mother's- I saw my mother's head in the hands of _something_ in armor. It couldn't've been a man. He was too big. Bigger than a mountain."

 _Mountain_. The word registered in Arya's mind and she shot up, ignoring Landa's tears and grabbing her by the shoulders. "This man, he was as big as a mountain?"

Landa nodded, crying harder. "He swung her head around by her hair."

Arya shook her. Tears didn't help anything. Especially now. "Listen to me. Landa, listen. What did he look like? The man, what did he look like?"

"I don't know!" she sobbed, trying to push Arya away. "He wore a helm. The whole time he wore a helm." She sobbed anew when Arya let go and sat back on her heels.

The Mountain. It had to be. But what was he doing? "Where was this?"

"It was just a village. Bonway. Just a small town that never bothered anyone at all. Why would they do that? Why would they kill almost everyone and torture the rest? We're not important. It's the Barrowlands. There's nothing important there!"

"It's war," Arya said, not unkindly. So The Mountain was close. But if Landa arrived today on foot, why wasn't The Mountain already here? It didn't make sense. She hated not knowing.

As Landa sobbed harder, Arya awkwardly patted her hand.

* * *

 _Nymeria dreamed..._

 _The shadow creatures lashed out at the six direwolves, but no blow was landed. They were only shadows. Distant memories of a past they were never a part of, of a time when gods and heroes walked the earth. The true-pack pushed on, delving deeper into the Lands of Always Winter._

 _A horn sounded, ice cracked, and the Children and men fought against foes they had no hope against. All ghosts. All images and sounds echoing through time. The true-pack ignored them like they ignored the shadows. They pushed on, stalking the creature throughout the ages. It roared a terrible roar. Mountains fell, cities died, and the creature flew..._

The sound of the main gate opening brought Arya back to herself, the dream disappearing in a slow haze. The gate. Arya shot up, gave Landa a nudge with her boot, and grabbed her things. Landa sat up, her eyes swollen from the tears she shed.

"They're here," Arya said, opening the door. "Come on, they'll put us to work." She stepped out just as three people entered winter town, Landa following after her.

There were two men and one woman, all frowning at the prospects that came out to the road. The woman's frown lessened, though, when she saw Arya and Landa. They were the only two that looked able to work. She stopped in front of them and studied them. The men came behind her, stopping to stare as well. Arya didn't like their stares. She didn't like when any man looked at her as prey.

"What can you do, girl?" the woman asked Landa, her voice harsh and raspy. She was ugly, too, with three moles on her face and barely any teeth, but the men seemed to respect her enough with the way they looked to her for cues.

"I- I can clean," Landa stammered. She looked terrified. "I can embroider. I can cook, but I'm not good. I mean, I can make soup, but it always-"

"It was a simple question," the woman sighed impatiently. "I asked you what you're good at, not what you're not good at." Landa face reddened as the woman's attention turned to Arya. "And you?"

"I can clean, m'lady," Arya said earnestly. "And I worked in my uncle's tavern for most of my life, so I can serve. But I'm a quick learner. I can do whatever is needed of me, m'lady."

The woman laughed. It wasn't pretty. "Roger, she thinks I'm a lady." She laughed again and shook her head. "No, girl, I'm not a lady. You can call me Goodwife Jene. I've been charged with finding able-bodied servants. Those who can take orders and carry them out without too much trouble is what we need. You're not much, but you'll do."

Arya almost let out a sigh of relief. She thought it'd be harder than this. Something was bound to happen. Something bad. It always did when it came to getting back to Winterfell.

"Then follow me. Lord Bolton will return within the week and we're already behind schedule."

But as they approached the gates, nothing happened. She wasn't struck by lightening, no one pointed at her and screamed 'look, Arya Stark'. _Nothing happened_. Arya's chest tightened as she passed underneath the gates and her eyes grew watery. She wanted to fall to the ground and cry for everything she lost. But she didn't.

She was in.

She was in Winterfell.

* * *

Things moved so fast after that that Arya didn't have a chance to look around. Which she considered a good thing, to be honest. It was easier to pretend she was Mercy Snow if she wasn't lost in the memories of Arya Stark. She kept her eyes down, too. That helped. That helped a lot. Especially when they passed the training grounds she used to watch her brothers in. The sound of steel against steel reminded her how much she'd changed since then.

But that was Arya Stark. Not Mercy Snow.

The goodwife led them to a small building beside the Great Hall. It was a flurry of activity as servants came in and out, preparing to break their fast before starting their shifts. A tall, thin man sat at the end of a long table with a guard wearing the Bolton standard. They looked to be in a heated discussion over something. They didn't even notice Goodwife Jene approach.

"And I'm telling you, no one knows what happened," the guard was saying. "My men are not responsible for this."

"You're telling me she just slipped and fell onto a knife six times?" the man sneered. "You tell your men that if I have another girl turn up dead, they're banned from the bathhouse. Do you understand?"

Goodwife Jene cut in. "What's this then? We've lost another one? That's the third one this week, Acton. Better keep a handle on it or it's your head."

The man named Acton ran a hand over his grey hair, glancing up at the goodwife. For a split second he looked at her with hatred. If Arya hadn't been looking at him, she wouldn't've seen it. ( _Interesting_.) He ignored her interruption and gestured to Arya and Landa. "This all that was there?"

"I know, my thoughts exactly," the goodwife grimaced. "I think they'll only be good for minimal chores. They're not that bright." This time, it was Arya who shot the hateful glance, but she was paid no mind. It was like they weren't even there.

"Well, one of them'll have to go to the bathhouse," Acton grumbled. "We're low enough on serving girls as it is. What with the way they all keep mysteriously disappearing." His mouth twisted bitterly as he looked at the guard, who shrugged.

Goodwife Jene shrugged with him. "It's to be expected. They're sellswords after all. They tend to get bored."

Right then, Arya decided to kill her when all of this was over. She'd kill them all. The reality of the Boltons in Winterfell and not the Starks hit her hard. It wasn't right. They shouldn't be here. Her father would never let anyone harm a serving girl. And he'd behead the man who killed one.

But he wasn't here. No one was here except for Arya and Sansa. ( _Sansa. What of Sansa?_ ) How could it have come to this?

"Maybe you shouldn't assign so many pretties to the bathhouse, then," the guard put in. He pointed to Landa. "Not her. She's a beaut, but the other one..." He pointed to Arya. "With those scars, she might not be messed around with too much."

Arya's blood went cold. For once in her life, she wished she'd been born beautiful like Sansa. She knew what happened in bathhouses to the serving girls. She'd walked in on it happening once. The girl had been screaming so loudly that the man didn't hear Arya come up behind him and cut his throat.

 _No, not the bathhouse. Please, not the bathhouse_. She'd have to do whatever needed to be done to make sure the Boltons paid dearly for what they'd done. She'd have to. That wouldn't be possible if she killed someone on the first day and got caught. She'd have to.

Acton gave Arya a considering look. "What's your name, girl?"

"Mercy, if it pleases you m'lord," Arya replied, sounding shy and scared.

The goodwife snorted at that. "She thinks everyone's a lady and lord."

He ignored her again. "I'm not a lord, Mercy. Just an understeward and your superior." Now Acton looked at the goodwife with that flash of hatred. "You answer to me only. Goodwife Jene will take you to the bathhouse. There's a place for you to sleep in the back and it's warm. If anything happens to you, you're to come to me at once. Do you understand?"

Arya nodded, too numb to speak.

"Good. Now, go." He waved his hand, dismissing her.

Landa looked at Arya with a helpless expression. Very discreetly, Arya winked at the girl as Goodwife Jene took her by the arm and dragged her away. She didn't know why. She just didn't want the girl to worry.

* * *

The bathhouse was a fairly new addition to Winterfell. The Boltons added it on after taking the castle from the Ironborn. They connected it to the hot springs that kept the Great Keep warm, making it a popular place for guards just getting off patrol or watch. The men that served Roose Bolton that night in the Twins committed atrocities that still haunted Arya to this day. She shuddered to think what they were allowed to get away with here with unimportant serving girls.

The goodwife shoved Arya through the door, the noise bringing the other girls running to the front. There were five of them, all very pretty and all very young.

"Here's a new one for you whores. Try not to let her get killed like you did with the other one." With that, Goodwife Jene left, her nose in the air as if she were better than everyone around her. Arya was going to kill her. She was going to kill her and make it hurt.

"Don't bother with her," one of the girls said kindly. "She just thinks she's Miss High and Mighty all because her husband's the steward. I'd love to shove her head underwater for awhile. Just to scare her."

"Ona!" the youngest gasped, then giggled when Ona shrugged.

"What's your name?"

Arya looked at the speaker, a girl who looked the oldest. She hadn't cracked a smile like the others. "Mercy. Mercy Snow."

"Have you done this before?" Even though she didn't smile, she looked kind when Arya shook her head. "Don't worry. It's okay when you get used to it. You won't have to do anything today. Just watch and learn what'll be expected of you. If you play along, you'll be fine. Nora didn't play along, that's why she's dead. I'm Sari."

The others introduced themselves, but Arya paid them no mind. All she could think about was that night and how she pushed Jaqen away from her. She should've pulled him closer instead of that. She should've given him all when she had the chance.

Men came in and the day began. It didn't seem as bad as she thought. Sometimes there were woman who came to soak in the large stone tubs. It was only when the sky began to grow dark when she learned what was expected of her.

A little tug and pull here and there while being fondled was the main thing. Only one man bent Ona over a tub to take her, but she acted like she enjoyed it. Arya couldn't. She couldn't. But she had to. It was odd that the thought didn't bring any tears. She just felt cold and numb. She wouldn't be a mouse if she let it happen, if she chose to do it and killed them when this was over, but she would be if she fought it and it happened anyway.

But Jaqen. He was the only one she ever wanted. She knew that now that he was gone from her life. If only she was no one in a different face and not Arya Stark. She'd be able to do it without thinking about it. But now she was Arya, truly Arya, and she hated it. The only consolation she could think of was that men talked before and after their satisfaction, saying things they shouldn't. She would have to find a safe place to report everything she found.

The last man left after the moon was well into the sky and the girls retired to the back to sleep, letting Arya sit in silence by herself. When they all started to snore, she slipped out quietly. It wasn't a good idea to be out alone, but she needed to see the grounds. She needed to see if there was any place left that felt like home.

Arya walked along the wall that bordered the Godswood, taking care to stay in the shadows. Her father's gods lived behind that wall. The old ones who abandoned him long ago. She wanted to set it on fire. She wanted it to be ashes like her childhood. The only thing that stopped her was the weirwood. _Bran_.

Arya heard footsteps when she came up behind the armory. She hid as they passed by and receded. Again, she wished could fade into the shadows. She wanted to kill them all. She wanted to make them pay. She didn't want to be a ghost anymore. She wanted to be a monster.

When she was sure all was clear, she crossed the path to the other inner wall. _Quick as a snake. Quiet as a shadow_. Arya knew where she was going now. She'd been heading there in the first place, only she hadn't noticed. The crypt. It called to her, invited her in and she went willingly.

The moment her foot hit the first step down, Arya felt it. Home. Here it was. The only place she knew as home. While Bran climbed, Arya had went down deeper to the heart of Winterfell. She used to explore the underground for hours when she wanted to hide from all the things her mother wanted her to do. It was always warm here, being so close to the hot springs.

She remembered staying underground for a whole night after getting in trouble when her mother overheard her saying Jon Snow was her favorite brother. Jon was the one who found her crying in a dark corner. She remembered the knife they used to cut the palms of their hands. They'd pressed them together as the blood welled up and mixed together.

( _"See? Now we're true brother and sister. You have my noble blood and I have your bastard blood," she'd said_.)

She wondered if Jon still had the scar on his palm like she did.

Her eyes ran over the faces of all the Starks that came before her. Everything was familiar here. This was still home. When she reached the end and saw the empty space where her father should rest, she wanted to cry. She tried. She really tried. But the tears didn't come. She thought that seeing this would be enough to break the grief free and she could finally give her sorrow voice.

But it wasn't. Arya still felt empty.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes, trying to feel something, anything. Nothing. Maybe when she found Sansa. She hadn't asked about her sister yet. She didn't know why. She knew the wedding had already taken place. She knew her sister was here. But she couldn't bring herself to look for her yet. She didn't want to know the horrors Sansa went through on the wedding night. She heard the talk of the Stark girl's screams of pain. She didn't want to know if she was broken and weak. A wolf could face down monsters and men without breaking a sweat, but when it came to emotional damage?

She was craven.

When she opened her eyes, Jaqen H'ghar was there, leaning against a pillar just outside of the candlelight.

* * *

At first, Arya felt as if she'd been transported back in time to when she was a mouse in Harrenhal. The man in front of her looked exactly like the man who gave her three deaths. The guard uniform wasn't the same, but it was close enough. He looked at her with the same expression, though, his eyes dancing with amusement over a secret only they knew.

"It took you long enough, lovely girl," Jaqen murmured softly. "This man feared you'd never make it."

Now, Arya felt something. Anger. It raged through her. She'd had enough of this. The leaving and coming back. The uncertainty. She wanted it to stop. Before she could think about it, Arya rushed forward and smacked him hard. It was his own damn fault for not ducking. Really, he should've expected it. His eyes flashed in anger, giving her some satisfaction.

"Do not do that again," he said in a low voice. The anger was there, too, she could hear it. "Sound carries in the underground."

"How many names do I get this time?" Arya spat out, clenching her fist. She wanted to hit him again despite his warning. She wanted to hurt him like he hurt her. She drew her hand back again, but he caught it in a tight grip and pushed her against a wall when she struggled against his hold.

Jaqen's brow furrowed. "I thought you a clever girl. You get all the names. All the names of the ones you want dead," he whispered harshly. "I will kill them all for you. Don't you see that? How can you not after what I did for you?"

Disbelief slowly began to replace the anger. Arya shook her head at him. "No. No, you left. You left me alone."

Jaqen was the one getting angrier now. She felt it in the way his body tensed against hers and saw the heat of it in his eyes. He let go of her hands and slid his fingers around the nape of her neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging it so she looked up at him. "You have no faith in me? In this man? Everything, Arya Stark, everything I do is for you. I followed you to Meereen. I kept you safe. I ignored the whisper of a name." His voice grew more dangerous with each word and Arya felt that now familiar thrill run through her body. "I killed for you. I became your Jaqen H'ghar and when you would not have him, when you would not have me, I came here because this was the only place I could be of use to you. While you've been taking your time, lovely _girl_ , I went to old friends I knew were under the employ of the Bolton. I've been here this whole time waiting for you because I knew you would come and I knew you would need someone on the inside. _Everything_ I do is for you. Never doubt me."

Arya stared at him, unblinking. Her mouth tried to work, tried to speak, but nothing came out. Weakly, she shook her head, trying to deny his words. No. It didn't make sense. She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve all those sacrifices.

But he'd done them. He thought she did. Jaqen H'ghar thought she was someone who was worth all of that and more. It didn't matter that he was wrong, he did it all for her. Sooner or later, he would see his mistake and then he would leave. She tried to push him away, but he held on to her, refusing to let go. She struggled harder and still he held her.

And then, somehow, she was kissing him and there were tears on her face and the taste of blood on her tongue and she didn't care who was crying or who was bleeding she only wanted more and so did he because she could feel how hard he was.

They fell to the ground hard, down to the dirt and the stone and the dust of ages past. Jaqen's hands were up her skirt, ripping her smallclothes off while Arya unlaced his pants. Without hesitating, she wrapped her fingers around his erection. He groaned as she stroked it. Even after the things she'd seen in the bathhouse, she didn't know what she was doing, but she knew where she wanted him, where she needed him. Arya urgently guided him to her entrance.

Jaqen took her hand in his and entwined their fingers together. He held her tightly as he entered her fully with one sharp thrust. She cried out, her senses afire as he ripped her apart so painfully, so beautifully.

"Shh," he whispered, pressing his forehead against her's. "A girl must stay quiet. She does not know what her cries do to this man. And sound carries. We must stay quiet."

Arya whimpered, nodding her head as he kissed her to muffle any other noise she couldn't stop. He started to move with long, slow, deep thrusts. It hurt. It hurt more than anything, even more than when he gave her the scars on her face, but she treasured the pain. It anchored her to him, and in that pain, she found the purest form of pleasure.

There was no going back from this, she was his and he was hers. She'd given to him the innocence that was his the moment he gave her a coin, but it was far more fitting for it to happen here in the last place that was home to her; here in the dark among the dead.

The pain was blossoming into something else, a warmth that built up inside of her, slowly spreading through her body. She felt as if she were on the brink of something earth-shattering. She didn't know what was happening, it was nothing like she'd ever experienced before. And then she felt him hit a spot deep inside of her that made her back arch as she broke the kiss. She gasped loudly when he hit the spot again.

"Please," she whispered, not sure what she was asking for, but Jaqen knew. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her, angling his thrusts to hit that spot over and over again. She slipped her hands underneath his shirt and held onto him, unable to do anything else but gasp.

"Lovely girl, sweet girl, evil girl," Jaqen breathed against her neck, his teeth nipping at the tender skin in between the words. She clawed at his back hard enough to draw blood. With each gash she made, he thrust harder, pushing into her as deep as he could.

Arya cried out his name, not caring about being quiet. There was only the dead around to hear them anyway.

His lips moved to her ear. "I am yours," he whispered. And that was all she needed to hear. All she wanted. The pleasure that had been building up inside of her exploded and she found a release she never knew possible. Everything faded but the feeling of him inside of her, filling her, making her his. She held on tight as her body shook and tears fell from her eyes.

Jaqen whispered her name over and over as he buried himself deep inside of her and spill his seed. She was too far gone to worry about it. She only wanted the feeling never to stop. She wanted this to be all that existed and all that ever existed.

The high lasted for what felt like an eternity, but ended too soon. Jaqen kissed her tenderly as her body still quaked with aftershocks. When he made to pull out, Arya wrapped her legs tightly around him, keeping him there.

"Stay," she pleaded, struck by a sudden terror she couldn't explain.

Jaqen cupped her face, his eyes burning into hers with an intensity that took her breath away. "Always," he said as if she should know. To her embarrassment, Arya began to cry, but he held her tight and kissed her tears away as they fell.

* * *

Later, they lay entwined, her head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. It would be close to morning soon, but Arya didn't feel the need to hurry just yet. Neither did Jaqen. He ran his fingers over the blades she'd sewn into her dress, both of them content with letting the moment pass by slowly.

"A girl's first time shouldn't be like this," he murmured. "It should be gentle and slow. On a bed instead of here."

"Since when have we ever been gentle to each other?" Arya asked, lifting her head up to look at him.

Jaqen laughed softly. "I will give you that. But humor a man next time and let me show you how good being gentle feels, okay?"

Next time. Arya grinned as the thought warmed her down to her core. Until she remembered where they were and what they were facing, which brought to mind questions. "How did you know where I was going?"

"A man must have some secrets left to him," he smirked and would say nothing more no matter how hard of a look she gave him. "Maybe I will share it with you one day."

She sighed and sat up reluctantly. The moment was going to have to end soon. She would have to go back to the bathhouse and he would have to go back to his guard duty. "How about you share what you've learned here then?"

"I can do that." Jaqen sat up as well, making a face when he noticed how dirty the back of her dress was. He'd always been fussy about appearances as Jaqen H'ghar. Arya supposed she'd have to get used to it now. "But you won't like it. Stannis Baratheon was overtaken by the Boltons while he was trying to get the mountain tribes to join him. His army is at the Wall and leaderless for the time being."

Arya closed her eyes. If any of the houses that supported Stannis joined with the Boltons, then they'd have more men than the Khaleesi could deal with unless she brought most of her army to Westeros. "Is Stannis dead then?"

"No, so there's hope in that," he said with an expression that plainly stated his opinion about said hope. "They're bringing him to Winterfell within the week. I've seen what the son does to prisoners. I don't know what kind of man Stannis is, but I don't think any man would be able to withstand that amount of torture without breaking." He glanced at her, knowing the unasked question that was on her lips. _What of Sansa?_ But he said nothing of it. "You'll need to tell the Khaleesi to make her move soon. There have been reports of an army coming in from the south, but it's confusing. No one can get an accurate number of the men. There's more everyday."

"The Mountain," Arya said grimly. "How far out is he?"

"Seven, maybe eight days ride, but they're moving slow. We don't know why. There are less refugees coming in from the south than there used to be and all our scouts go missing."

Jaqen paused to let that sink in. If only she hadn't taken her time. The Khaleesi could've taken Winterfell when the Boltons rode out. It was no use berating herself now. She just had to work harder and faster.

"Have you talked to the Khaleesi yet?" Jaqen asked, a sly smile on his face.

Arya glanced at him with surprise, then felt foolish. Of course he knew. He knew everything. She thought, though, that her ability had been a cleverly kept secret. Obviously not. It had been hard to tell the Khaleesi that one, but after swearing her to secrecy (something that made Dany angry), Arya showed her what she could do with the orange tomcat she bonded with in the pyramid.

It took a few times before the Khaleesi believed her. Which Arya thought odd since she was the Mother of _Dragons_. Having seen magic firsthand, she thought an ability like hers would be easily accepted. In the end, after the fifth time she proved she could tell what was happening on the other side of the pyramid, they developed a code so Arya could report in to her directly through the cat. Reaching out across that distance with her mind was hard and it left her with a headache, but the cat and her had bonded and it was the only way.

Arya hadn't told her about Nymeria and the wolves, though. That was a secret for herself. And maybe Jaqen since he knew everything. She wouldn't be surprised.

"I was going to do it earlier, but, well..." she trailed off, matching Jaqen's sly smile.

"Indeed." He stood, pulling her up after him. She was sore in between her legs, but it was a soreness to treasure. "A man has patrol duty this evening, but I could find a replacement if you need me to watch over you while you report in."

It was tempting, but Arya didn't want him to babysit her. Just knowing that he was here was good enough for her. Now she didn't feel so alone. Nymeria wasn't enough. She thought she would be, but she needed someone to touch and feel. Not just someone. Jaqen. Even the bathhouse didn't worry her anymore.

"I'll be fine," she shrugged as he brushed the dirt off her back. Something trickled down her leg and she froze, remembering belatedly that he spilled his seed inside of her. The fear must've shown on her face when she looked back at him because he only smiled and cupped her face.

"Go to work, lovely girl, and do not worry. A man will bring her something warm to drink that will put your fears to rest," he murmured before kissing her softly on the lips. Oddly enough, that left her more shaken than their most passionate of kisses.

"I'm not afraid," she lied needlessly, then smiled, turning red as she slipped her smallclothes back on.

Before they reached the stairs, Jaqen stopped and turned her to face him. Her smile faded when she saw the look on his face. He was hesitant to tell her about something. Something important.

"Lovely girl, before you go up there, there are two things I should prepare you for," he began. "The boy... Ramsey."

Arya shook her head, thinking it to be about Sansa. She couldn't help her yet. She didn't want to know what she was leaving her sister to when she was this close to her. But Jaqen put two fingers underneath her chin and forced her to look at him.

"No, it's not that. When he took Winterfell, he captured your foster brother. He's still here, but... well, like a man said, no one can withstand the kind of torture the Bolton boy inflicts without breaking."

Theon. Arya hadn't known what happened to him. Theon the traitor. Her hands clenched into fists. When she first heard of what he did to Winterfell, she'd been too numb with the grief of everything else to let it affect her fully. But now she'd seen what he'd done with her own eyes. If she didn't know that Bran and Rickon were still alive, nothing would stop her from murdering the bastard. She would have to wait until this was over to make him pay for his betrayal. She said nothing to Jaqen, though, only looked at him and waited for the second thing he thought she needed to hear.

He searched her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Don't go near the smithy if you can help it." Jaqen gave her a little smile, but still searched her eyes to see her reaction as he continued. "An old friend of yours is there now. It seems you made quite an impression on him with all those things you told him about Winterfell."

There was only one person she would've talked to about Winterfell. And only one person who would be working in a smithy. Arya shook her head at him again, feeling dumb. It wasn't possible. That boy had been sold to a red witch and taken away. How could Gendry end up here in Winterfell?

"He was here when I arrived," Jaqen said, answering the unspoken question in her eyes. "I've stayed away from him. I don't want to chance him asking questions I can't charm my way out of. If he recognizes you, there's no telling what he would do."

She wanted to deny it. Gendry wouldn't get her in trouble. He was her friend. The only friend she had besides Hot Pie. But she'd changed so much since then. Who knew what Gendry had to go through to get here? She couldn't chance it, no matter how much she wanted to see him for herself.

After making her promise not to do anything, Jaqen led her back to the bathhouse. The courtyard was just beginning to show signs of life when they reached the backdoor.

"You have nothing to worry about here." There was a wicked, mischievous glint in his eyes that Arya knew all too well as he traced a finger down her neck. "If anyone asks who gave you these, tell them the Lorathi did."

Her hand went to her neck. "What are you talking about?" He didn't answer her, only grinned as he turned away. "Jaqen? What are you talking about?"

* * *

"You need a bath," was the only greeting Arya received when she closed the door behind her. No one said anything about her absence as they bathed and dressed themselves. Apparently it was normal, which was a relief to her. It made this whole thing easier.

The only time one of the girls talked to Arya was after she stepped out of the bath, completely and truly clean for the first time in four months. Her hair had grown to the middle of her back and, while it was clean, it was full of tangles. Sari came in and, seeing her struggle with a particularly big knot, took the comb from her. Before she knew it, she could run her fingers through her hair without wincing in pain. She wondered if Jaqen would like to run his fingers through her hair and hated herself just a bit for having such a Sansa-ish thought.

"Thank you," she said, putting her dress back on. She'd beat most of the dirt off of it before the bath and decided it was clean enough. Besides, it'd get wet throughout the day.

"It's nothing. I like to brush hair," Sari admitted. "All of the woman ask for me when they come in. Even the new Lady Bolton."

Knowing the girl's eyes were on her, Arya forced herself to continue what she was doing. In truth, the news startled her. She should've known Sansa would visit the bathhouse. She wondered if she would recognize her. Probably not. Who would expect to find Arya Stark in the bathhouse of Winterfell? Arya opened her mouth to ask Sari what the Lady Bolton was like, but stopped herself. She still didn't want to know.

"Oh, that reminds me!" the older girl said, saving her. "I ran into a girl who said she knew you. Landa? Is that right? She was in the kitchen getting food for Lady Bolton. She's her new maid. She wanted me to tell you to meet her in the kitchen for our lunch break. She wants to see you, I guess."

Arya had to hide her reaction from that, too. Landa was Sansa's maid? She wasn't sure if she was relieved or not. At least she knew there was someone kind with her sister. On the other hand, if she wanted to do what she came here to do, she would have to meet with the girl to get information on Sansa's well-being. There was no ignoring that now.

"If you want, I can make sure you're not busy then," Sari continued. She looked up at Arya and noticed her neck for the first time. "Oh! Was that what you were doing last night? That doesn't make me feel so worried now. Who was it?"

Arya gave Sari a confused expression, making the girl laugh. She steered her to a mirror and showed her the marks that Jaqen had left on her. Arya's eyes snapped wide as she ran a hand over him. That's what he was talking about. She remembered the feel of his teeth on her neck, but she didn't think they'd leave behind tiny dark bruises like this. She didn't like it.

"Oh, the Lorathi," she shrugged.

Sari's eyes widened. "The Lorathi? You bedded the Lorathi?"

Arya decided to only answer that with an enigmatic smile before going out to the front. Men just getting off patrol duty came in, some of them already staggering on their feet from ale. With neither of the Boltons in residence, it was harder to keep the sellswords in line. The sun was barely in the sky, but the bathhouse was already full of rowdy, drunken guards.

She was helping Ona ready a bath when the ruckus suddenly quieted. Arya looked up to see Jaqen coming toward her, carrying a steaming mug. Interestingly enough, some of the guards gave him a wide berth as he passed by. Most simply left. He paid no mind to them. He only looked at her, a small smile on his face.

"Here, lovely girl," he murmured, handing her the mug. Ona looked from Arya to Jaqen, clearly confused. "Moon tea. And all of it. It may not taste good, but a girl must drink it all." He glanced at Ona and raised an eyebrow. She didn't like the obvious dismissal, but she left them alone.

A memory of Harrenhal came to her then. She remembered the way the other guards treated him there, as if they were terrified of him. He still terrified them. It sent another thrill through her, knowing how deadly he could be. She only wished she could be like that.

The looks from the other girls were completely different from the men, though. In Harrenhal, the serving girls would giggle when he passed by, but he only had eyes for her even back then. Arya wondered what made her so special. But there were more important things to think of now. By showing the guards that she was his, he gave her more freedom than she ever thought possible. Although, it angered her that it had to be like that. She'd rather they looked at her in terror because of what _she_ could do, not because of what Jaqen could do. Oh, well. They'd find out soon enough.

Jaqen brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and leaned close, his lips brushing against her ear. "If you go to the crypts tonight, there is a side tunnel with a little alcove in it. Use that place if you need to talk to her." Arya didn't need to ask who 'her' was, she only nodded. It wasn't until after he left that she noticed the blue winter rose he placed behind her ear.

* * *

Arya looked for Landa in the kitchens at lunch, but couldn't find her. As she left the kitchen, she heard a commotion at the stables. A horse was screaming and as she got closer, she could hear a familiar abrasive voice shouting above the rest of the other voices. She couldn't make out the words, but she did hear 'fuck' used copiously.

So Sandor couldn't stay away.

There was a large crowd surrounding a black horse and another stallion trying to tear each other apart. Arya started to push through the crowd, but she noticed just across the way another familiar face. _Oh, gods, Gendry._ She turned around quickly and left. When she glanced over her shoulder, she thought she saw him looking at where she had been standing with a bewildered expression on his face.

Damn. She had to be more careful than that.

Since Sari told her not to come back until the bell rung, Arya still had time to herself. She walked the grounds, listening to the gossip being chattered over the din of the courtyard.

 _The Lady Bolton is pregnant?! Not the new one. The fat one. Oh, the fat one. What's the bastard say to that? Hush, boy, anyone else hear that talk and you'd be hanging off a tree with no skin._

The more she heard, the more she realized how much the people of the castle feared the Boltons. And loved Sansa. It didn't excuse them for letting what happened happen, but it was a start.

Arya turned to head back, but she saw Landa and a hooded figure enter the Godswood. A gust of wind blew back the hood and a flash of red glinted in the sunlight. She knew that color. She'd know that color from anywhere. Her mother had that color. Her mother's daughter did, too.

Almost as if she could feel eyes on her, Sansa turned her head. Their eyes locked. Sansa's brow furrowed as she tried to place the familiar face. Arya could see it happening. She could see it and she almost didn't stop it. But she had to. She turned her back on Sansa, one of the hardest things she'd done in a long time, and walked back to the bathhouse, keeping her eyes on the ground.

That night, after everyone was asleep, Arya slipped out and headed to the crypts again. She found the alcove Jaqen had told her about. A couple candles and a soft blanket waited for her. It was obvious he took the time to clean it up, too. She smirked to herself, wondering what the other guards would think if they knew how much of a romantic the man they feared was. She settled herself down and reached with her mind out to the tomcat.

He was warm and content, purring loudly as someone scratched behind his ears. It was so comfortable that Arya had to fight with him to move. Cats, especially spoiled cats like this one was becoming, were stubborn. She wondered if that was why she found them easier to slip into than any other animal besides Nymeria.

When she finally gained full control, she found herself already in the Khaleesi's rooms. The Khaleesi sat beside her, going over some slips of papers. Arya didn't wait, she batted the papers out of her hands and jumped up onto the desk. It took the Khaleesi awhile to realize that the cat wasn't trying to play.

"Arya?" Her voice sounded odd with the cat's hearing. She didn't like it. She didn't like to meow, either. She focused on the ink and paper the Khaleesi placed in front of her and wrote, as best she could with a cat paw, what needed to be said.

Then the Khaleesi wrote down something that made Arya so angry that she lost the connection with the tomcat.

Arya opened her eyes and found Jaqen sitting beside her, sharpening one of his swords. For a moment she just watched him. He glanced over at her and smiled.

"The girl comes back. A man was almost worried. You need to sleep sometime," he murmured, putting the sword away.

Yawning, she agreed with a nod and leaned against him. "I was stupid today," she sighed. "I think Sansa saw me. I know she saw me, but I don't think she knew who I was. She just... She looked so empty." The look in her sister's eyes wouldn't leave her. She'd seen it before in people who were shells of their former selves.

Jaqen tensed. "Very stupid, sweet girl. She could've called out to you." He moved to look her in the eye. "You can't do that again. This place is dangerous. The most dangerous place we've ever been in."

"You don't need to tell me that," she snapped, sitting up. Her head pounded with exhaustion. "There's another thing we have to deal with. The Khaleesi has already sent half of the Unsullied to Westeros. And they're led by Ser Barristan. He convinced her the time was right."

"Why is that bad?"

"They're not coming to Winterfell first. They're going to take Dragonstone first," she sneered. "Then they'll come to us. I told her how close The Mountain was, but they still think he has just a small militia. We're on our own for awhile."

Jaqen laughed bitterly. "I have more good news. The Boltons have sent word. Already half of the houses that supported Stannis have pledged to them. By the time the Unsullied reach us, they'll have The Mountain's army and the Boltons' army to deal with."

Arya felt like crying. "I don't want to play this game anymore."

And that's what it felt like they were doing, playing a game they didn't know the rules to. She thought of the Khaleesi and her promise. It seemed she wasn't going to make good on it yet. She looked at Jaqen, who was watching her with that small smile again. He knew what she was thinking. He always did.

"Will anyone fight for you?" she asked softly.

He wasn't even surprised by the question. "Yes. There are a few who would join us. What are you thinking, lovely girl?"

As if he had to ask. Arya smiled. "I have an army in the woods waiting to feast. The people are scared of the Boltons. But they love Sansa. They would fight for her. For her and the wolves. They say the North remembers. I just think we need to remind them of who really belongs in Winterfell."

His grin was positively wicked. "There will be blood, then? Good, I was getting bored."


End file.
